Fleur de Lis
by marykate65
Summary: POTO fanfic.Fleur is my way to bring him some peace and then see what he does when it meets with his destructive passion once more. Thank's Mominator for taking over beta ing. Chapter 10, a pivotal chapter,is finally out!Enjoy and review,please?
1. Chapter 1

Fluer de Lis

Chapter 1

Tear me down.

What is to become of me, she is gone. He thought as he walked slump shouldered down the Rue de solil recalling the last moments of happiness he would ever glimpse. He decided it had to be over with. The pain in his chest constricting his very soul. He was done worrying what society would say about him. He was weary with the fight it took to try to be what he was expected to be. He was not going to help humanity ever again. They didn't want it, they didn't need it. They didn't appreciate the beauty he tried to give them. Lord knows he knew how important beauty and perfection was to society, had he not lived his entire life being painfully aware of it. How the absence of either element would cause fear and hatred. Even from a mother.

He was sick and tired of the whole business of life. He decided it was time to go somewhere truly alone and think about what he could do to get back at life for all its cruelty. That was all there was left, the flip side of love, hate. He hated all mankind, he would see they all suffered. It had to be. Being forced to hide from the mob of frenzied humanity out to end his life. When they finally left, believing he was gone, he re-entered his residence by the lake. There was the automatic response of gathering some things to wear against the weather and leave there forever. In automatic the entire time, his thoughts growing darker by the minute, he placed his wig and mask upon his head. Proceeding to the cabinet in his room, Erik unconsciously retrieved his warmest clothing in preparation for his exposure to the dark cold night. There was no plan, nowhere to go, just the certainty that he was destined to this end, Christine had shown him that, painfully, with a kiss. A kiss, to seal the fate of many. Could she have ever possiblyknown what incredible power she truly held? He coiled around himself and began to weep once more. He was in such physical pain over her betrayal. It was not possible to go on like this, he had to purge her from his mind. He would have to or he would never survive to repay her betrayal. That would be a pity, to let her win so completely, with that silly brat she went away with. Somehow he really thought that she would not go, when she returned he thought she would stay, but she gave him the ring and left. He shuddered, the grief visible on his whole self, he was in complete physical and mental pain, he had no idea, with all his vast knowledge, how to stop this. How pathetic he would have looked to any bystander. He had to get to some place quiet and alone, to work through this pain and agony. But where? Where could he go that they were not hunting for him, thirsting for his blood, his unmasked head on a platter. Now he was blaspheming, comparing himself to John the Baptist. He felt many similarities to him at this time, though. Maybe God was trying to tell him something.

Walking on he met the outskirts of town with his soul torn in two. He decided to get off the road and walk down the field he found coming to life before him. He could get lost there and maybe he would be able to work on deciding what he would do next. It was impossible to figure out what the mind could not comprehend at this time. He was so on automatic that he was very surprised when he arrived at the doorstep of the monastery. He looked at the cross and the words of the building chuckling under his breath, "So, what are you trying to tell me. I say that I am going to show no mercy on mankind anymore, and you are taking me to a monastery as an answer. This is the worst case of irony I have ever seen if you don't count what Christine did to me back at the Populaire. How do I go on, what do you want of me, you want me to become a Priest? Like the faithful would ever come to me for anything but hate, more likely fear would scare them all away from your church. It would be too ironic for words." Then he got an idea, maybe God wanted him to realize he was real and maybe he could do some good as a monk. Even if he didn't go as far as to become anything, he would be able to be alone and consider what he wanted to do. Maybe he could write masses and return to the music of his youth. His youth, was he ever really a youth? It seemed impossible to believe it. He always had such anguish that it was really incredible to think for a moment that he was a boy when that all started. He decided to see what awaited him on the other side of that door, so he knocked and waited.

A/N- This was an idea I came up with when I was thinking about the furthest I could go from the storylines currently in play. I am once again writing about Gaston Leroux's Phantom of the Opera Phantom and Christine, as well as Susan Kay's portrayal of Erik and Andrew Lloyd Webber's version as well. I am visualizing the wonderful actors of the movie version, giving credit to Gerard Butler, Emmy Rossum and Patrick Wilson. They are truly an inspirational triangle of actors. It is with much respect to the original story that I am trying to humanize and realize just how the workings of Erik's mind were motivated. I don't believe that he was intentionally a homicidal or obsessive person, it was merely circumstance and rearing of oneself without human contact or compassion which created his distorted views, Christine being his wake up call to the actuality of humanity and allowing his conscience to awaken.

I give her character much credit for that purpose, and imagine his redemption as a result of compassion on others parts. This is a story of one such redemption, hence the title Fluer de Lis, or Flower of life, or Flower to the light, either one being redemption in Erik's world. Hope you will like it, your reviews or lack of reviews will determine whether I go on with this story or not. So, please don't be shy, if you think it sucks, please tell me. If you are curious and want to read more, let me know that too. Please? Thank you so much for your support on my other two attempts. I am feeling more confident now, and promise this will have a different flavor, though it will end with a good Erik, not an evil one. Though there will be a touch of evil, can't have one with out the other, right? If I write it, that is. Let me know, again, Merci… Your further indentured writer, Marykate.


	2. Chapter 2 Considerations and choices

**A/N- He needs some peace and there are never enough good stories to justify EC with a bit of a twist in the process. I shall try to make it exciting, we shall see. With high hopes I shall submit for your approval, **

Chapter 2

_Considerations and choices_

As the door was answered, I felt a cold hand grip around my heart. Hadn't fate already done enough to me? I left my cloak over my defeated frame, thinking, w_hy am I here?_

Even as I entered the doors, I felt fear at the idea there was someone here to reckon with. It was disconcerting. I preferred to believe that religion was just a way people had to comfort them when they made bad choices. Now I was yet again faced with the possibility of all that religion could be, after an adulthood of defying it, believing myself condemned already for my choices.

"Monsieur, may I help you?" The monk asked softly upon motioning for and waiting for me to enter, shutting the door from the darkness and chill night air. Shutting the door on all I had grown used to embracing until this night, when I let my past go. I wondered what he would say when I let my cloak hood go down and he saw the gleaming white mask. Perchance the legend of the Phantom of the Opera had spread to this lonely monastery on the outskirts of Paris? I would soon find out.

Removing my cloak from about my head, I watched carefully to see his reaction. When he showed no visible sign of noticing my mask, I shrugged my shoulders and set about removing the rest of the cloak. He took it, motioning to the chair that lay ahead in the foyer of the monastery. It was a damp and dank smelling place, surprising for something above ground to smell so pungent. I felt home already. I also noted there was no unnecessary candle usage. The dim light was welcomed by my swollen eyes. Fewer questions this way. The nagging feeling that I was out of place to a severe degree plagued me so deeply that I found it hard to look this man in the face. Finally, succumbing to the need to retain my dignity, I did, however, find the strength to look this concerned soul in the eye. What I saw when I looked it those eyes surprised me. It seemed that he was peaceful. I so wanted peace; I had never known it and thought perhaps it was a myth. I decided there and then that this was what I needed, even if I didn't believe, per se, that to be able to obtain peace at last was worth the God I must get past to do so. I looked heavenward and said a silent thank you, out of respect for the beliefs held by these peaceful souls. Maybe there would have to be a rethinking about my place in this universe. Hmm. _What is next in this ride __Y__ou have in store for __Y__our distorted creation, if indeed __Y__ou had a hand in creating me?_

After properly dispensing with my cloak, he returned to me extending his right hand warmly. We shook hands and he announced his name, Brother James; he hesitated, giving me the opportunity to reciprocate. When I said nothing and did not appear willing to change my mind on this matter he continued; "Good Monsieur, this way, we have a room with a simple bed, candle and a chair. I fear that the only clothing we can offer for a change after you clean up will be a monk's humble robe. We live simply here, however we are willing to allow you a place to stay as you appear to be lost and look as if you have traveled a great distance. I saw no horse, are you also on foot?"

I was taken aback by his deductions in so short a time, it seemed that perhaps this was a place I would not want to linger in, if they could construe such things so easily without words. As I gazed around for the first time, thinking about what he had just said, I happened to notice that there were no real frivolities at all in this simple place; it was so meager and sparse that it made my lair appear a mansion with lavish furnishings in comparison. This was wholly new to me and was the closest thing to someone who had less than me that I ever had encountered. Yet this man was somehow at peace. Really, it was a quandary, setting my imagination in motion. Maybe this was the only way I could survive and proceed in life without Christine. For the first time in, God, I knew not how long, I thought that maybe I was still alive and had a purpose yet.

"Yes, I am grateful for your generosity. I shall take you up on the place to stay for now. I know not how long, if my presence becomes too much for you, please inform me." Feeling the need to ensure them they would not be supporting me thus, I also wanted to be assured they would not betray me nor turn me out in my stead. Realizing the very real possibility of that happening, there was desperation in my voice when I continued; "I have money, I shall pay you, let me know what you need, I shall pay it."

"We shall talk of terms when all are present, however, the hour grows late here, I shall get you a snack of hardtack and cheese, a glass of wine from our vineyard as we are quite self sufficient from even the church with the proceeds from our wonderful vines." Pausing for a moment to let me realize what he was trying to say, he began again; "Alright then, I shall take you to your room for the evening, you can sup there and we shall gather the remnants at breakfast. Naturally the introductions and a proper tour of our monastery and vineyard will wait till morning as well. Now if you will follow me, please. I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name before, Monsieur."

"That's because I have not given it yet." I replied sternly, leaving it at that. Feeling a bit miffed that he as much as told me they were not interested in money for my room and board, I was under no inclination to share information with my new 'friend', or anyone else this early in the game. Information on my part would have to be earned. There were no free rides with my life anymore, I had to have time and space to heal. Whatever future I had left depended upon this fact.

Brother James began to walk forward from the foyer, into a large cavernous room which held books wherever one gazed, there was a large sparse fireplace and several wooden ladder-back chairs scattered about the stone floor. There were white fur rugs strewn in front of most of the chairs, and there was one couch setting in the middle of this confusion. There were small tables by each chair, as well, with a candle in a candlestick by each. This was undoubtedly the reading room and library, with as much simplicity as the monks could muster. The fireplace had logs stacked on either side of it, up to waist height. It was quite a marvel, how they could stack them that high and not have them fall the first time they touched them to get a fire going. The fire was merely embers, and as Brother James passed, he tossed two logs on the fire to keep the room from becoming too chilled. I took this opportunity to look around further in this room. My eyes froze in the far corner; I suddenly knew how I was going to heal here.

"Brother James, does anyone use that?"

"Not recently, our resident musician was transferred back to Italy, his mother grew ill and he had to be closer to her to tend to her illness. Why, do you play?"

Smiling slightly I replied "Yes, I have had some experience with the pipe organ. I would be greatly honored to give your organ some exercise, as a magnificent creature such as this should not be left to grow neglected in a corner of your library. It begs to be paid attention, monsieur, and I would consider it an honor and a privilege to lavish that upon her." I colored at calling the pipe organ a _her_, that was grossly inappropriate to say in a monastery. I groaned inside, wanting to run with the embarrassment of such an intimacy with someone like Brother James. He merely shook his head and smirked, walking slowly forward.

"It sounds like you have more than a passing fancy for this instrument. I will be anxious to hear what you can do with 'her' tomorrow. Now, if you will please follow me, Monsieur, to your room."

We found my room at the end of the hall straight off to the left of the organ. He was careful to keep me close to the organ, most likely knowing that he had hooked me with that simple act of consideration. It was like giving me a room right next to Christine when I was in a foreign place for the first time. I was home, for she was near. The only problem was that the organ was not Christine. Brother James had left after imparting simple further instructions; I was finally able to have a quiet moment to fully realize several things for the first time that day.

First was that Christine did leave with Raoul last night, when I pushed her feelings to the final threshold and snapped her from my grasp forever. Second was that the Opera Populaire was no more; I had destroyed that mistress of my creation, as well. Third was that I had murdered people in the process, with no idea how many, but the damage was devastating even as it unfolded last evening. The Gendarmes were surely looking for me now. I had no choice but to stay here. It was no longer safe for me to be out in the society that wanted nothing to do with me anyway. I began to weep and, finding the weight of my smudged mask to be too much for my distorted skin, I removed it. Walking to the basin and pitcher in my room, I washed my face and the tears fell freely. It was too much. Then I sat on the small bed, almost too small for my long frame, and did something I had not done for longer than I cared to recollect. I prayed.

"God, I don't know what kind of redemption you have cleverly devised for me in this place. All I ask is that you please—please!—let the agony of Christine's leaving to fade to a manageable level. I cannot survive if you do not." With that, I lay on the bed, feeling the weight of my anger build once more. "This is so damned sick, placing me here," I sneered. "I don't get it, why would you be doing this to me? Can you see this? With amativeness, I'm imagining Christine in a million libidinous positions, lewd beneath me, around me, devouring and being devoured by me, and now you are trying to save this soul from the hell I gladly sunk to with Christine on my loins, in my fantasies, in my bed, in my head. What do you want from me! I am a man who loved with my heart and soul, and now You have taken her from me and cut my life off from all of her beauty and essence. I don't know how to go on. God, I don't know how to breathe or live without my Christine in my life. Now, You throw me in a place with men who have never longed as I, they shall not know where the passion comes from in my music when I begin to play for them. They shall know that I am broken, what shall I do then? Tell them of my lustful intentions and the death and destruction that they caused? I assure You, God, You don't want me to unleash upon these chaste men those libidinous, intimate details of Christine which I have conjured up to amuse myself; it would surely be their downfall if I did."

At that, I closed my swollen, tear-stained eyes and laughed with all the strength I could yet call forth. The irony in this situation was absurd and I hated it, for no more reason then that I could not control it at that moment. I had control of everything in my life, up until "The point of no return", and then I plunged into humanity headlong and was torn to shreds for it, by my beloved's own hand. This was too ludicrous to bear. Surely He had more in mind for these souls then my influence in their lives?

This was the last thought I entertained before slipping into an uneasy sleep. For the first time in years, I fell asleep on my side with my hands clasped in prayer. Maybe not conventional prayer, but nonetheless, I was talking to God, and as improbable as it was that he was actually listening to me, I was demanding to be heard.

_**A/N- I have added a beta to my list of advisors for my story, so I must thank all who are responsible for ensuring this story makes sense and is flowing easily on the eyes. These wonderful associates are, in no particular order, my beta, Mouette, my captivated reader, Nicki who has been with me since chapter 6 of Even a Mask... and my daughter, Amanda who has been indentured since the beginning of her life listening to my stories and imagination running wild with everything from carosels in the closet to the man on the moon and has not given up on me in 16-1/2 years. Thank you for your time and reviews, chapter three will arrive as soon as I can sort through all Erik has to say...:-)**_


	3. Chapter 3 Music Monsieur?

Chapter 3

_Music, Monsieur?_

My night dragged on. I was plagued with the thoughts firmly embedded in my mind and the bed was getting smaller and smaller as this miniscule room closed in on me. I had to escape, the room was closing in on me, as was my mind; there was no way I could do more than close my eyes and escape for a few moments before thoughts and feelings dragged me back to reality once more. The absurdity of my current reality was striking, being alone; so out of place and far away from the life I knew. I was so restless to go and play that magnificent pipe organ. It was gloriously out of place in this otherwise abysmally simplistic building. There was so much they could have done with the monastery to make it more practical; I could tell that from the hall I had walked down and the sitting-cum-library-cum-music room they had. Even in the foyer they wasted space and allowed no comfort or practicality. Maybe I would entrance them with my architectural expertise as well as my musical prose one of these days. We would see how things played out first, no easy work from me anymore, even for You! If I could even find paper to sketch a few of the designs and images in my mind I would be able to pass the interminably long drawn out time; instead I had no release. Ha, that would be perverted, to draw the images in my mind in this place. No doubt they would show me to the door were I to give into my twisted imagination and draw the true images in my mind, the ones I truly needed to purge. I laughed when I thought of something I had not previously considered: suppose I had not been born with this deformity, but with my curiously intense libido. This led to another shocking thought; it probably was best I had my horrible face, as there was no telling what I would have been without it. Was the libido the result of my deformity or was the deformity Your way of reigning in my overpowering dithyrambic ardor? That bore deliberation, so I mused upon the thought, enjoying the idea of feeling this way without my distorted features holding me back.

With twisted and passionately ambiguous pictures reeling round my mind, I must have found release in sleep, for when I opened my eyes again, there was brightness coming through the little window I had not noticed in this appallingly small and dreary place. My God, this place looked even worse in the daylight. I really did experience a sharp pang of desire then to be back at my lair, my space and my Populaire. Waves of hate and disgust washed over me as I once again relived all I had done and lost in so short a span of time. Why do we take so long to build something treasured and take so brief a time to destroy the cherished pieces of our lives? Self-recrimination, self-revulsion; I was a master of these. Had I not been taught them early in my life, thanks to Madeline? Ah, poor Madeline, my pathetic mother, never allowed happiness, forced to raise a child she found no comfort in, the reason for her reclusive and quite maniacal existence. A hate for life was built in me through her own despair for our shared existence.

I realized it was doing no good to lay here full of angst and revile over the past. It was truly time to just cut my losses and move on. If this was where I was to be for now, I had to make it more bearable. Before breakfast I would approach Brother James and get parchment and mechanicals for my creative needs. Maybe I could begin to purge some of this anger and angst through these outlets. They worked before, they could possibly work again. Though having a name for my concupiscent thoughts did not make it easier for me to ignore them; with a face to envision my lasciviousness with it was a wholly different perversion altogether.

Forcing these thoughts firmly and finally behind the door in my mind, I was at last able to get out of my ridiculously inadequate bed and stretch my length at long last. Now was the time to begin anew. I washed my face in the basin with the water from last night. It worked to remove any traces of sleep that may have crept in unnoticed. Then I found my mask, cleaned off the smudges as best I could, rearranged my hair to its correct position, and placed the mask upon my face. Maybe eventually I would not need either the mask or the wig to feel accepted; however being that I was previously known as the 'Devil's child' without these vanities, I thought it best to spare the Monastery that visitor for the time being. I placed my clothes back on, starting with the white dress shirt, cravat, vest and coat. I would at least begin my time here with common genteel appearance, to remind them that I was not a monk and define where I stood on their beliefs. I was glad that it was the black and not red or blue that I was wearing. I would miss dressing as such when I had to rid myself of these clothes.

Lithely, carrying the scraps of food and dishes from last night on the small tray, I found my way to the sitting room, for lack of a better definition. I would have called it a 'great' room; however, I saw nothing great about it other than size and the mistress gracing the corner of the room. Shame they had placed her there, she was a grand diva and needed a stage to glorify and reign within. It was then that I decided to name her. What name? Of course, the only name grand enough for such a beauty, _Christine;_ the only name that yet existed to be placed somewhere other than the darkness of my mind. It would be sweet agony to play Christine, but the torture would be worthwhile; I would be with her in more ways than one.

"Good morning."

I started, my thoughts being pulled to the moment. I colored at the idea that someone may have caught my thought processes. I knew they were not hidden from view as I would have preferred them to be and had not thought there was a reason to hide them having no idea anyone was there. "Oh, good morning brother James."

"I trust you rested peacefully last night?" said Brother James as he took the tray from my hands turning to retreat to the kitchen and continue his preparations for breakfast.

In reply, I nodded, and then I stopped him, "Brother James, do you mind if I go over to the pipe organ and play her a bit before breakfast?" Damn, I had said it again, _her_. Well, at least I didn't call it Christine outright; that would have been my total damnation.

He turned and gave me that wry smile, seeming to understand something unspoken, and replied that he would be most grateful for some music to liven his chores with. Appreciative beyond measure I turned to go to the organ, belatedly remembering I meant also to ask about parchment and writing materials. He was gone already so I would have to wait until later.

I went over to the organ, careful to inspect the pipes for flaws or other damage which could occur if the pipes were not properly tended to. They were gleaming; no doubt the predecessor had been as enamored of her as I was already feeling. I reverently sat down at the keys, stroking each one in their stead, feeling the seductively soft yet firm quality of the ivory, smoothed by use. I felt the foot pedals and found each one for each octave I would use, this was truly a work of art, and I was quite speechless when I was finished inspecting her thoroughly.

Rubbing my hands together to ensure they were limber enough for the music in my mind, I placed my feet in position and prepared to bring my tapered fingers down upon the instrument beneath me, waiting patiently for my hands to know her. The eroticism I felt at this grand diva's presence was all too familiar. My eyes misted over; I lost my every thought but Christine, and I was once again playing for her. Resisting the melancholy urge to play Dies Irae, I instead found that Ave Maria was coming out of my hands. It flowed and wrapped its way around the cold stone walls warming each corner with rich melodious strains. I continued with some of the more mundane compositions of my contemporaries after the Ave. I was sadly out of practice at the masses I had learned in my youth, but I was resolved to try to call one or two of them up. Soon I found myself singing the mass while I played one particularly poignant remembered mass—the one I had wanted to play when Sasha died. That was the moment I lost my faith; remembering this rushed me to the present. I lost the feeling for the music and abruptly stopped. Panting for air, utterly spent from the music I had purged from within me, I had not noticed my audience. They all clapped for me, each one coming up and introducing themselves to me. Obviously Brother James had told them not to ask me my name or anything else, as not one of them pried. They then announced that the breakfast was ready and I should come and eat


	4. Chapter 4 Of vines and parchment

Chapter 4

_Of vines and parchment_

"The vineyards are quite impressive, one gets the feeling it goes on forever until you reach the summit and can scrutinize it properly. Funny, the Monastery looks like a children's play toy from here." Brother James could not hide his pride in that statement. We had been walking the grounds for over an hour looking at the vines and studying the different grapes. It was quite impressive and took my mind off of the music and other matters that had occupied it steadfastly since that night I passed the point of no return. It struck me that Brother James could not be much older than I was. Somehow his countenance left me feeling that he was much older than I. There was a maturity borne of peace in him; I wanted that. I wondered if I would ever get it.

Suddenly, I felt the need to say something so I cleared my throat and began, "Monsieur, I was hoping to convince you to allow me to do some, er, um, renovations and enlargements to the monastery?"

Brother James considered me for a moment and spoke. "Good Monsieur, I'm sure that our current arrangements are adequate; we are much more in need of a fine chapel to go to each day. We currently place an altar and crucifix in the sitting room to have our morning services before sunrise every day. We find it an awkward proposition to have them there. We do not wish to force you out, monsieur, in light of your beautiful and haunting mastery of the pipe organ. Do you mean to tell me that you are an architect as well as a master musician?" His eyes held just the slightest touch of cynicism, honed finely through many years of discipline. God, how I longed for that control. Maybe some day.

"Yes, Brother James, I would be able to do that. I am an architect, as being a musician was not a realistic way to make a living. If you have parchment and mechanicals for me to sketch them, I will begin to design your chapel. We shall need a location to begin with."

"Let me speak with the rest of my brothers and we shall scout out some locations for you to choose from for your design. If you want to come back with me to the Monastery we can get you the supplies to begin your designs."

"Merci, I am deeply grateful to you for that. I must do something to feel worthy of your shelter and companionship. It is difficult to successfully start a new life with indebtedness hanging over ones shoulders. I would be most honored to share my talents with you."

"Then it is settled, we shall go back to the Monastery. It shall be joyous news for my brothers to hear that you have agreed to design a chapel for us to pray in. Our days of makeshift worship are soon to come to a close."

Brother James was true to his word and brought me to the place where they kept their parchment and mechanicals for my planning purposes. I was so delighted that all I could do was to stare at them with my imagination already deciding what I was to place upon them. Smiling absently at Brother James, I took them and wondered down to my small room. I laid the materials out on the small desk and began the inspired drawing of my fevered mind. Soon though, my thoughts left the beautiful building I was erecting in my head to wander to the inspiration for my very existence. Before long, a new piece of parchment replacing the one I had begun the chapel upon was teeming with a seductive and erotic likeness in charcoal of my beloved. I hardly knew when I had begun to sketch her, I only realized that I had when I finished and felt the physical aftermath of this highly lascivious likeness I had created from the confines of my deepest desires. God, how could I ever get her out of my mind? What was I to do with this now? Gazing upon it for some time, I let out a feral groan and began to burn it with my candle. I had to stop allowing _her_ to occupy space in my world. Deciding that this was getting too hard to handle, I withdrew one of the robes hanging in the box they chose to call a wardrobe. I took great care to remove all of my good clothes and carefully put them up. I would wash and press them and return them for a day when I may need them again. For the time being, it was enough to know they still existed. On some plane, I was still attempting to grasp at the genteel lifestyle I had never been accepted into, even if only when I looked in here... I conceded to the life I was in for now, placing on the robe I had removed from this simple wardrobe. I would not place the sandals upon my feet, however, that was much more than I was yet willing to even consider. Next I decided to go to my Christine and play for a while. Maybe it was time to compose—no, I would wait to do that. I needed release before I exploded in rage and overwhelming frustration over my situation.

I approached the organ, my Christine, with something coming very near to awe, such was the gratitude I felt at music being allowed to continue in my life. I felt a connection to Christine the woman through the instrument, as music was so much a part of hers and my souls. The union was always fervid and we would never lose that no matter what, one's imagination always heard the other's voice. I knew it for I saw it when she was performing. She heard me singing in her ear, though I obviously was not there. She could not put her heart into it without me there, which is why I was her soul. She could not work without me; someday she would shut down without my voice in her head. I only hoped I could make myself escape that same inevitability through this Monastery. So, knowing nothing else to do, I began to play. _Think of Me_ automatically came out of the organ, and I could imagine her singing it with her beautiful white dress and the bejeweled locks of brown hair hanging down her slender exposed shoulders and breasts. She was a vision of beauty that night and I would never be the same from then on. She had coiled herself completely around my soul at that moment. It was then that I discovered my eyes were wet. I quickly wiped the exposed eye and stopped the song. The few brothers who were in the sitting room looked up from their tasks, such was the abruptness with which I stopped playing; it shocked them from what they were doing. I rose from the instrument and looked at them, shrugging my shoulders as I bid a hasty retreat to my room once again. Night was falling and I recoiled at the idea of another night in this room. I had to find something to do, so I decided to return to the sitting room and find a book to return to my room with.

There were many books on theology, naturally, but I was not necessarily interested in these, so I continued to look around blankly. Not particularly happy with what I was finding, I was about to give up to the desperation I felt at night with nothing to occupy my mind when Brother James came up behind me.

"Monsieur, if you care to do something to occupy your thoughts and you are not interested in various theologies as your reading, you are welcome to glance at some of our foreign books. We have language books for several different languages. We have Latin, Greek, Russian and Hindi. We are trying to expand our knowledge of our universe through learning other ways to speak our word. Would you care to try them?"

There was a slight interest in what he was proposing, so I agreed and he began to show me the section on the various languages. There was one that stood out to me immediately and I knew then that it would be sweet torture, but still, there were things that I longed to know so I chose the book that had gathered sudden interest.

"Ah, Swedish, that is a unique choice, not too many decide to learn that one. We received that, donated by a Swedish violinist who stopped here many, many years ago on his way to the Opera House in Paris to see his daughter. She was staying with his friend at the Opera Populaire. He died shortly after the visit he made here; I got the impression that he was trying to tie up loose ends for his daughter when he stopped here. There was desperation in him that made him almost melancholy when he played his violin for us. After staying here he left us this book, so we would always remember how much he appreciated our hospitality. We have not really had many using it since its arrival here. Please, Monsieur, go ahead and keep it, you may find it helps you to learn Swedish, you may not, but it has got beautiful pictures in it."

My heart constricted painfully to be learning something of Christine's past that she probably didn't even know. She probably would never know of her fathers stop here. God, did nothing sever the bonds created between us? Was this the state of mind I would remain in for the rest of my life? I opened the book hungrily and began to look through the pages, devouring the beauty of the land that I was beginning to believe that I very much wanted to see some day. The words were beautiful and they were exotic to read. I had to figure out the syntax so that it would not be impossible to speak this language. Suddenly I stopped, my fingers frozen to the page before me. My breath caught in my lungs; it seemed I had forgotten how to release it. There were cold fingers stretching from the stony ground to clutch my heart. There in the page, as a book mark, was a picture. I needed no explanation to know what I was seeing. It was Gustave Daae, with his beautiful young daughter Christine, and standing with his arm around her possessively, already at their young ages, was a very rogue Raoul de Chagny. I had to sit down. This was the fateful time they first met, by the seaside. This was when Raoul had saved her red scarf from the sea, and they listened to the stories, this was where it all began, both Raoul's love for Christine and her attachment to my own alter ego, the Angel of Music.

This discovery naturally sent me into a litany of thoughts yet again. This descent into madness was beginning to become quite annoying. I had to find a way out, so I naturally did just what I should to begin the climb yet again; I walked off with the book stowed under my arm, near my heart, breaking it as I walked to my room to drink in the image of my beloved and dream of what-ifs yet again.

As I sat on the bed, staring at the picture, noticing how Christine looked like her father, and how she must have taken after her mother in the features of her hairline, her beautiful arch to her brow, as well as the delicate swell of her lips, so tender to my touch, I felt the tears come hot and unbidden. I was loathe to stop them, had I not earned the right to feel this way? Had I not been the noble one who let her go to her prince charming, leaving the monster to rot in his lair in solitude? I felt my bitter anger begin to creak, then crack, bits falling free, and suddenly I was sobbing as the wall of my anger crumbled before me to a million pieces. I felt suddenly as if the piercing ache in my heart had become a living thing, it was not locked in the tight confines of my madness and anger any longer, I seemed to suddenly remember why she was not with me. For the first time, that last scene, when she kissed me and I told her to leave me, came back to my mind in its entirety. There was no way she could have stayed with me. I was not going to have a future as far as we could see, so even if she had wanted to sincerely stay with me when she brought the ring back to me, she could not have seen anything but death in my future. I still didn't see anything but death in my future. Though there are many ways to die, and I was experiencing yet another way now.

I wept as a child for his mother, deep railing sobs leaving me as I could not contain the pain in my soul anymore. It was suffocating me and I was destitute. I don't have any idea how long this went on, I only know that at the end I could not move beyond removing my mask and lying there, gathering my breath in deep gulps of air.

Composing myself at last enough to take measurable amounts of air once again, I cleaned the sorrow from my shattered face, feeling utterly empty inside. I decided that it was time to try to draw that chapel now, and the thoughts of the chapel were all that occupied my mind for the rest of the night. As I sat in simple, peaceful, solitude, creating a masterpiece in its simple functionality and reverence to their station in the church, I was glad for the emptiness I felt. It was comforting after the ravaged emotions I had been suffering for so long. By morning I had designed the perfect chapel for these simple people, yet it was something that could never be called simple in architectural terms. It was using the stones of the area to their best advantage and the native woods and grapevine designs to give natural feel to the simplistic nature of these men. It would fit rightfully anywhere they would choose to build it. I was ready to begin immediately. I was also devising a room to isolate myself from them, set to the side of the chapel for solitude. If I didn't stay here forever, at least they would have a place to put other guests, as it seems they were often a sanctuary for one traveler or another. I had to plan the cost and give them the funds and the list to go and order the supplies necessary to build this creation. The other thing I had to devise yet was where I was going to put my Christine, she was going to hold a place of honor there, yet be where I alone could enjoy her beauty. Her sound to be heard through the hills, my eyes to be the ones to behold the beauty as it sang out for all to hear. Yes, I was pleased with this and I was going to enjoy building once more instead of destroying all I beheld. This was to be my swansong, and then I would live out my life here to compose in solitude and learn to relish the peace that had been handed to me as the roses I once handed to my Beloved. I held no malice as I thought this, only a sad resignation that this was my life and I had chosen it through my actions as surely as if it had always been my future. The reason for my birth. That was the beginning of my peace.


	5. Chapter 5 Construction of a dream

A/N- Thank you to all of you who have so considerately reviewed and commented on my story, Hybrid, Thanks for the wonderful faith you have in me, I hope I do not disappoint you. I am glad you like the picture, I thought it was cool when Erik came across it too.

Mouette, Thank you for your patience as my faithful beta, as well as your votes of confidence, it means so much to me. Keep up the writing on yours, too, I love them and don't say so often enough. Thank you again for being my beta.. I don't know how I could have gone through another story without you. The comma thing and the backward sentences, honest to God, I talk that way. Must be a regional thing.

UpWay2L8- I love ya, after all these years you stand staunchly by my side, your the greatest friend a person could ask for. I had better say that as you know all my skeletons, right? LOL... Everyone, we have known each other since even before 6th grade, we are older than dirt, and still friends, too. Wow.Hope ya forgive me for that Up!

xEternalxDarknessx- You are so wonderful and patient with me, I appreciate your reviews and thank you from the bottom of my heart for your compliments. I will try not to disappoint you, if I do, please let me know, I shall work to redeem myself. Please continue to read, I have some interesting things in store for Erik coming up.

I must also thank Nicki, she patiently reads all my works and lets me know if I am crazy or not, she has been doing this since about chapter four or five of Even a Mask... You are wonderful and I thank you for your faithful reading of my words. Maybe we shall meet someday my friend.

A word of thanks also to my 16 year old daughter Amanda who also reads the words faithfully and with baited breath so often. She was taken by surprise when I found my words in May and has been overjoyed to read the words as they are written since then. She keeps me real. Much thanks kid. She reminds me that no, teenagers are not something to be afraid of, as my mother was of me. (As upway2l8would say, yes, Mary, but she is not you either, important difference there. LOL...) I am very glad to have her she restores my faith in teen agers.

Merci to all of you, I pray you enjoy chapter 5, and remember, I didn't create the characters of Christine, Gustave, Raoul or Erik, they are Leroux, Kay and ALW composites. I draw my inspiration from the movie versions, though they are interchangeable, so I try to keep the descriptions rather general for that reason, though Christine will always be described with long brown hair and brown eyes, and should I describe Erik, he shall have the green eyes and black hair and leather mask, the deformities will resemble the movie version, I just don't see it medically possible for someone to look like a corpse and be alive, and my stories try to treat as much as possible close to a possible reality. Deformed at all in the 1800's where ignorance was the way and people were generally afraid of anything they didn't understand or know would make even slight deformities scary to them. It was not stuff of horror stories as I see it as much as stuff of ignorance as I believe ALW saw it. And since it is my fanfic, I believe I am entitled to this perspective. Ok, that is my updated two franc's worth, on with the story now.Thanks again...

Chapter 5

Construction of a dream

Construction began within a week. We decided to build in a clearing near the Monastery, but not so close as to have to follow the constraints of the original building. The brothers were divided between the vineyard and assisting me with the building of the chapel. Brother James was very happy when I showed him of my plan to place the pipe organ behind the altar, sunken just a bit and with a thin filmy material hiding the pipes' shine, but allowing the pipes to show behind the altar. Then I planned to suspend a cross from the ceiling in the front of the pipes, simple but elegant. The pipes would face the congregation and the person who was playing the organ would be facing the congregation behind the pipes, in this case the order who attended the masses. This was in part so that I could enjoy my Christine away from their view and to still allow her to have center stage as a diva should.

I held no more malice, it had been a week since I felt my soul break in two at the sight of that picture which so vividly depicted the fact that Raoul was with Christine first and that I had no right to be there. I was not privy to the intimacies of Christine's life as he was; I only knew her soul through sorrow and song, and there was no contest. I had to let go and so I believed I did at last. I was grateful for having known her, as I would not have learned to be compassionate if it were not for the compassion my beloved had shown me. I would carry a simple love for her to the grave.

The construction was going to be fast, we could have it done by fall if we were blessed with continuing good weather. I hoped fervently that it would be so. I longed for my own space and that was going to happen soon if I had anything to do with it. I grew to enjoy the wine from the vineyards quite a bit; it was a good way to keep the ache at bay when we had a particularly difficult day of building. At night I would play the organ and compose masses for the monastery. They were going to publish and distribute them after I completed my third set. By this time they knew my name was Erik and nothing more. They didn't know where I had come from and they didn't know why I was there, but they were very grateful and looked at my presence as a gift from God when they saw my talents. They didn't see the drawings of my tortured mind when it reared its ugly head at times in the night. I would burn them after I drew them, so that the wound would not keep open too long. It would heal, there would always be a scar and it would be easy to reopen, but I had to admit, as the weeks turned to months I began to see that it was possible to be at peace and perhaps there was a God somewhere who had a purpose for me, a God who didn't make a mistake when he made me, despite what my mother wanted me to believe. Somehow I could feel remorse for my past crimes now, having found there was a true purpose for my living. It was easier to look at each of those who had degraded me as naïve and ignorant and feel pity for them and their narrow-minded lives- some of which, like Javert's, I had shamelessly ended. Knowing I had suffered and was sure God had vindicated their deaths already, I no longer feared life or death. I had not come far enough to remove my mask or my hair and maybe that would never happen, but I was making progress. I didn't want to ruin anything; it was too dear to me to be finally at peace.

The construction was near completion. We had moved the pipe organ in to the back of the altar area. Having laid the silken fabric over the pipes to deter the shine from them, we then hung the cross in front of the pipes. It was suspended by three cables at various points from beams out of the roof going from the point of the cross in a pattern as rays of sunshine from the 'Son'. A bit of a play on words I thought would be appreciated through art form. The grapevine pattern was strewn throughout the cross, as it was fruit of the vine as the blood spilled had been.

The brothers seemed to be so delighted with the construction they forgot formalities and began to call me Brother Erik. I laughed inwardly at this; they could not be further from the truth. Still, it was nice to feel as if I belonged somewhere. This was truly the first time in my life I felt anything near a family bond, and I could see why it was so hard to live without it after one had experienced it. I felt so bad for Christine; I understood her pain more each day and secretly prayed for the chance to tell her so. I knew that by now, surely she and her precious Vicomte were married. They would be happy and I would be forgotten, as it should be. There is no reason to continue to miss what you cannot have. I loathed truly saying that, but it was the thought in my mind when the tortured nights arrived and I found myself sketching from memory yet again. These were no longer lurid depictions they had been at first, but they still had a fair amount of cleavage and they would show a just kissed expression on my beloved's face, the last face I saw in my memory.

To further accent the fact that I was far from any religious order's constraints, I could not help but build secret passageways and certain trap door areas, naturally not where they would dare disrupt the Holy Sacrament, but where they would be able to be arrived at should I ever need to suddenly disappear. By far the greatest secret passageway was behind the mirror in the small room to the side of the chapel. I fancied it my room while I was there. It was the only room of respectable size, with a decent bed and wardrobe that actually was a wardrobe, not at box with a bar. It also had a bit larger window; though it would have been disconcerting for me to make it too big, the fresh air was something I had grown to appreciate in certain ways. Windows were good, in the proper place.

The colors I chose to use in this room would be red and gray, as it seemed that black might be too pagan for these holy men. I still was designing this room for my tastes and therefore I had to be allowed the privacy to create this one without the aide of the brothers. They wondered why I had dispersed them to the vineyards when they came to help one morning clearly before work was near completion; I merely said that this was the time when the architect put his hand to the finishing touches and I preferred to do so on my own. I could actually see Christine, the girl, not the organ, in my room; she would find parts of it reminiscent to her old dressing room, such as the mirror. This mirror would be the passageway to the monastery and my room there. It would afford me the chance to continue illusions for the sake of mystery. Call it a flaw in my nature, but I still enjoyed keeping people guessing.

Somewhere deep inside there was an elemental lack of trust in this situation, I always had been starkly pulled away from anything akin to happiness whenever it was in my grasp, and this peace could be construed as happiness on some level. It was confusing for me to decide how to proceed. So, I decided to keep building tunnels and catacombs under the building. It was good work, setting my hands about coming up with shortcuts to different places in the monastery. There was not much of an area to place anything under the chapel. So, I sufficed to have a tunnel to the monastery instead.

One day as the whole tunnel network and the confusion of colors was gradually mixed and distributed along the walls of my room on the side; I finally set my hand to creating the final nail in the coffin of my love for Christine. In admission silently of my inner perversions, I was recreating the exact mirror from her sitting room at Populaire. I carved the intricacies, with one stark difference here, at the top, in recognition of the fact that I was in a chapel, I placed a very intricate carving of Mary, bearing salacious likeness to Christine. For the briefest of moments I even felt self recriminations for this, than I thought no, nobody would ever know here. Yet, I was then able to keep her near me every night through this mirror. The mirror was lovingly and wantonly created in private on my sleepless nights, finished and burnished it was ready for me to hang with the latches and mechanical devices necessary to ensure it was flowing on the hinge system. I didn't quite know why it was so important, but it had to be that way. I guess I had finally given completely into my perversion. As I said before, I knew as I did it this was the final nail in the coffin that was my love for Christine. I have found that my unrequited love is dark and without any compass to give it reason. It is unbidden and ferocious in its need to be dealt with. There was no way to find rationality when it took over; for it was feral and wild. There was no taming it, only mastering it. I was trying; God knows how I was trying.

The Chapel was done in October, we were able to move the rest of the items in and give all the attention to the final touches in short order. I was finally able to compose at all hours of the day and night once again. I would allow them the time to hold their service each morning, I even played the organ for them on occasion, though I found it difficult still to try to be thankful to a deity for anything. Had I after all been solely responsible for my creation of some semblance of peace here? I didn't see God lifting his hand to either build, heft or to design without malice within me. There was no great Epiphany while I was carving the mirror, probably the least holy and most reviling point of this whole creation. I smiled to myself as I went to my little room to get my things ready to take to the room aside the chapel later. I had to walk the vineyards to get some grapevine to add to the remodeling I was planning in the rafters of the sad dark monastery. I was planning on the revamping of the sitting room now that the small chapel was completed. I have to say that the chapel turned out beautifully, it was simple and there was ample room for the order to attend, and any of the peasant locals who may want to enter for a service.

There was a nice mahogany wooden stand filled with votive candles for intensions at prayer time. There was a matching table and box for prayer requests with some parchment and a quill with ink; they wanted to ensure that the order had anything necessary to allow more prayer time for them, as I saw it. Why in the world did they need to waste so much time doing that? Was not work and kindness a form of prayer, why did they have to kneel and pray along with everything else they had to do? Oh well, I guess that it is just their way, not mine, but then, what would I know about how to pray? It was rather ridiculous that I was criticizing them their habits; me, with lascivious thoughts and lurid dreams of Christine occupying every fiber of my being, judging them on what they did to pass time. Hypocrite!

Before I was to silently move my things to the room by the chapel, I felt that I needed to get this walk out of the way. I would take the road to the path that had led me here about 7 months ago. I had not been out of the confines of this vineyard and monastery since. The desire to leave was never there. I was actually looking forward to getting out for a bit and seeing things from this perspective, I decided to just walk and sketch this time; I would go out tomorrow with some of the brothers and pick up the grapevine for the décor then. I was still not quite easy in these robes they insisted on wearing. I thought about donning my trousers and shirt, now clean and pressed, having waited in the excuse for a wardrobe they have in the monastery. I fingered them when I returned to my room to get some parchment and charcoal for my sketches. No, I would wait. I sensed that the day for those clothes would come, though I did find my cape of some use yet in these chilly early days of autumn. Placing the cape over me, quite splendid looking over the robe I was wearing, I thought wryly, I silently left the room in the monastery and tried out my new tunnel through to the room of the chapel. Satisfied that the tunnel and the mirror mechanisms worked well, I was ready to go out the door. The evening was beautiful, the sun was preparing to set, and it was striking to see the clouds against the sun, with the vineyards and the monastery in there. It was worthy of a painting, but since I didn't bring my paint, in fact, I no longer _had_ my paints, I had to suffice with the charcoal and parchment. I found a rock and sat down to sketch some of what I was seeing. It was difficult, but I had to shift my focus to nature to come up with the correct feel for the monastery's renovation.

Lost in the picture until the light subsided, I decided to leave the parchment where I was and walk a bit. I turned around and began to head for the road. The light was fading fast and the shadows were spreading out over the vineyard. One of the brothers would be out soon to light the gas lamps along the edges of the vineyard. They did this to ensure the vines were able to be tended to quickly if the early autumn air became too cold for the delicate skin of the grapes yet to be harvested. The only time the lamps stopped being lit were when they were without the tender- skinned grapes. Then they would be allowed to rest, but until then, there was always one brother assigned to light the lamps and walk the grounds to protect their interest. It really was quite amazing. They didn't have the distillery here at this monastery, rather they harvested here and sent it off to the neighboring monastery near the seaside to be distilled and distributed through the use of the natural waterway. It was easier that way-they could all share in the profits. I was thinking of the ingenuity of this simple arrangement when I stumbled on a scene which would surely change everybody's lives.


	6. Chapter 6 A most dangerous discovery

Chapter 6

A most dangerous discovery

As I was walking over to the path that led the way through the middle of the vineyard to the monastery, I was shocked out of my thoughts by a discovery that would change the breadth of my life from then on. Lying on the road in a twisted mess was a carriage. The horses were nowhere to be found, I assumed they had been taken by whoever had left the overturned carriage in such a state. I was drawn nearer by morbid fascination, having found a body lying twisted in the wreckage that was the carriage. As I drew nearer I deduced it must have been the driver of the carriage. I feared that by the looks of things, the carriage had rolled along the road, ending on its side. It looked as if it had been dragged or forced for a ways on its side; it was incredibly twisted on the top and two of the wheels were missing from the front. I found the door and was readying to open it when I stopped. I had to pause for a moment, my lungs would not breathe, for on the door was the crest of the de Chagny family. Fear and dread crept into my heart and soul as I frantically fought to gain access to this wreck holding the merest possibility of my Christine inside. I could not see in as there was such a strewn mess of luggage. It was feminine, as there were corsets and hairpieces, shoes and fine dresses. I recognized some of the contents; frantically I struggled to get the door opened. Finally after several futile attempts, it began to move on its mutilated hinges.

I gave a formidable tug to the door, loosing it at last from its hinges completely into my hands. I threw the door to the roadside. Now I had to lie across the carriage and try to move things to find Christine. My breath was coming in short gasps and I don't think my heart has ever ached so deeply as in these moments of waiting to find out whether my beloved had left me completely and finally. There was so much to say that I had not said. I promised God then and there that if he allowed me to find her and save her I would not play games; I would tell her what I had to and let her free if she wished. I had to see her alive again. "God, please… _please!_"

The last plea left my lips so loud that it drew the attention of the brother lighting the lamps and he shouted, "Erik, is everything all right?"

I was too busy and frantic to even register that he had spoken to me; I continued to search through the sea of clothing, trying to make my way to the bottom of the carriage. "Confound it woman, do you have to have all these infernal clothes? I always said you wore too many!_"_

"Er… Erik. It couldn't be, my Angel, are you here to take me to heaven? My prayers are…"

It was my beloved. She was talking, her voice was very weak and came in stuttering gasps at points, but it was my Christine. She was there, and she was still alive. I had to find her now…I worked at the clothes for what seemed to be hours, probably only minutes, but to a man thirsting for reassurance that his beloved was alive it was far too long to wait. Finally I moved a particularly filmy and lascivious piece of sleepwear away to gaze upon the face of my tortured and salacious imagination. All I could do is drink her in, _her_, here, within arms' reach. I never thought I would see her again; what sweet torture! I tore myself away from my thoughts and tried to be rational. She was extremely pale; I could tell that in the waning moments of dusk's last light. I had to get her out, _now_.

"Christine, how badly are you injured? Can I move you or will you hurt worse if I try? Do you feel trapped anywhere, and can you answer me, my love?" The last bit came out of my mouth without thinking. I was immediately sorry for that, as her eyes fluttered open and she tried to speak. Somehow I roused her from her unconsciousness and by the look on her face I could tell she was sure she was dreaming and it quite alarmed her. However she was in no position to do anything about her fear of why she was imagining her angel here, now. I was so unsure of the right thing to do to get her through this alive; I didn't want to alarm her and I wanted to help her. I was going to have to go down there and get her up. I would have to kick off the remainder of the top of the carriage to allow me to get her out easily. She needed reassurance, so I did the only thing I could do; I began to sing softly to her. Drawing loosely from the melody from _Wandering Child,_ I put new words to fit the situation in while I tried to get her to relax and trust the help she had been given. The words I sang softly in her ear were simple but told of my love and need to protect her. The veil of time had been lifted and no denials hung in the air any longer, it was simply Christine and me. My heart thumped incessantly at the situation unfolding before me though at the time I could not for the life of me have said why. I truly forgot everything but Christine in that moment of time.

_Beautiful girl, so hurt so helpless_

_I am right here beside you_

_All of your needs be met this e'ning _

_With love and tender purpose_

_Dear sweet Christine I'll not leave you_

_This much I say to you true_

_You are the voice in my mirror_

_I look there and find you_

_Angel of music do not shun me_

_Live for your strange Angel_

_Angel of music I adore you_

_Stay with me here beside me_

_I am your Angel of music_

_Come with me, Angel of music!_

In between singing this to her gently and softly, I would guide her to move and she was finally able to get over. I moved down to her and cradled her nearly-unconscious head on my lap. I had to gaze at her and move the beautiful curls from her face to be sure it was my Christine. When I was satisfied yet again that it was her, I was able to brace myself, even with her up against me. how I know not now, but it was so at the time. I gave a monstrous push with my legs and was able to move the roof from the top of the carriage; it was so mangled I figured it would move pretty easily. Brother Stephen and I were then able to get Christine extricated from the wreckage.

With that done, I lovingly cradled Christine in my arms, and removed her from the debris. I refused to put her down, and merely knelt with her in my arms to allow Brother Stephen to see that she was indeed alive. Before I could say anything, Brother Stephen suggested that she go to the spare room in the Chapel. I had already decided that but figured it would not hurt to humor him by telling him it was a good idea.

As I rose to carry her back to the Chapel, the passing thought, _what if that foolish Raoul was with her_? Crossed my mind but I decided rather selfishly to tell Brother Stephen nothing. The boy had better hope, for his sake, that he was not, for if _this_ was how he was going to see to Christine's well-being, he bloody well would not be allowed to make such a mistake again. I could not comprehend his letting her get injured and ambushed as he had. Regrettably, I would come back and look for Raoul later; surely he would not have survived this mess were he with her, so there was no great hurry. Christine was lucky to have survived. I knew as I carried her from the ruins that she could bear my gentle touch, though she was badly injured and I would have to see just how badly when I got her to the Chapel room.

The walk to the Chapel was sweet torment for me, I felt so happy and light-hearted at the prospect of holding Christine once more. It was a feeling I had thought I would never experience again. Suddenly and without warning, her eyes fluttered open and she smiled a deep and sensual smile at me; sliding her arms gently around my neck, she rested her head on my chest, directly over my rapidly beating heart, causing it to accelerate several beats per minute at her simple touch. I groaned tearfully, "Christine, what has he done to you?_"_

She seemed to understand my words, though she was unable to answer with anything more than a whispered; "Angel, my beloved Angel, came to save me..." Her poor broken body was spent. She grew unconscious at last, and I know that the blessed oblivion was just what she needed in her pain. I fought the urge to crush her to me in a passionate embrace; my love for her still so overwhelming to me. I knew that _that _was the last place my mind needed to be right now, and steeled myself to resist the onslaught of emotions I was nowhere near ready to deal with. I was so fearful I would never see her alive again that I wanted to get all I could from our reunion, to convey in some manner to her how I felt. I knew it was inappropriate to be having these feelings, so I fought the strong urge to give into temptation. The gravity of the situation prevented me from continuing on this vein for long.

Finally we entered the Chapel, moving around to the side, and my room. I brought her gently into the room, leaving the door open so that the candles from the lit votives in the antechamber were lighting the room with a very soft glow. Nightfall had occurred sometime while I was cradling my beloved and gently returning her to my heart. I tenderly laid Christine upon my unused bed, the one I had intended to begin to sleep in this very evening. How ironic that the object of my entire life was given to lay in it in my stead. As she settled softly upon the mattress, I glimpsed the fact that there was no ring upon her finger. Did it mean the people who had done this to Christine had stolen it, or did it mean something else? _NO_, I chided myself firmly; I could not afford to do this to my poor mind yet again. I was going to have to give her to the ministrations of the brothers, and stay away, for her sake as well as mine. I could not travel down this road again, it was too dangerous; surely this time I would not be so noble. There was no way I could begin to love her again and give her back to Raoul, that foolish boy, who could not even protect her on a simple trip. What else would he neglect to do to ensure my beloved's safety and happiness? God, I had to get out of the room, but all I could do was kneel at her side and look at her.

She was so beautiful; it took a moment for me to remember she was injured and needed my help. I lit some candles and the oil lamp on the wall next to the bed. She was so pale; she had a deep gash on her forehead, near the hairline. It was then that I decided I could not give her over to the care of the brothers, not yet. Maybe not at all, I had to see her through this, see her well again. I went to the basin in the back of the Chapel and drew some water from the pump we had installed in the anteroom. The water was cold, but it needed to be used now, so there was no time to light the aggie and try to warm this batch. I would set some on the aggie and light it later.

I returned to her side with the basin of water and a soft cloth I had found in the anteroom near the pump. These pumps were handier than the well they used near the Monastery. Ah, technology was fantastic. For a brief moment I allowed myself to think of the possibilities; if a pump could be directed properly, with a lever installed to turn it on and off perhaps one could bring it further into the building. I would have to work on that later. My thoughts abruptly returned to the beauty beneath my hands. I had unconsciously begun to clean the wound; I forgot to add alcohol to the water to stem the possibility of infection. I rose and went quickly through the tunnel to my room at the monastery to get the alcohol I used on my face on nights when I was chafed by my mask. I returned with the bottle and added some to the water. If only I had some of my gypsy remedies. I may need to create some if she worsened. Maybe the physician would be able to tend to her, but I would be watching, and if she didn't get better I would sell my soul to save her. After all-- hadn't I already done just that?

I had to continue to look for injuries or bruising that could be causing her fatal harm without my knowledge. I had to try to inspect her while remaining chaste, for the sake of the brothers as well as Christine's. It was difficult, as I had drawn her so many ways, rather often naked and wanton in the pictures. God I hoped I had truly burned them all thoroughly. No use worrying that now, however; I had to get through this without compromising so much that it took all my concentration to even begin. I let the curl I was absently fingering fall back to the pillow, as I decided it would be wise to first lift her and check her back to see if there were abrasions or bleeding there. Gently I cradled her head, not certain whether it was to comfort and reassure her in case she woke or to comfort me in my fear she might die any time and leave me forever and irrevocably. I then lifted her top off the pillows I had propped beneath her, looking first upon the bed to see if I garnered any blood stains. I groaned in distress when I saw one midway down her back. I had to try to remove Christine's garments and get to the spot to assess whether it needed stitches or merely cleaning and dressing. I realized unhappily that I had no dressings to place on my dear one. I then thought of the scraps of cloth they used to wrap the Blessed Sacrament when they ministered to the sick; I would have to buy the monastery more, for those strips would work perfectly for her dressing. I returned Christine to the pillows and went to retrieve them. That and strips of my robe to bind it with. I moved with practiced ease, as I had to do this to myself when I was caged like an animal; it was survival, and I had mastered dealing with injuries all too well. Now I found I was thankful for that knowledge, as I would surely never have acquired it elsewhere. I mused at how strange it was that things tend to happen for a reason, even horrible things. I had never before considered my experience with the carnival having merit or necessity in my life; maybe now in some warped way, it would.

Having found the hooks and ties, I was able to loose Christine's dress in the back and then I proceeded to unlace her corset began to remove it. She didn't need anything to restrict her breathing; her injuries could be masked by that inability right now. It was sweet torment to touch her bare skin, though I forced myself to try to remain detached from what I saw. It was difficult to see her beautiful soft milky white skin marred by blood and injury. It caused me to choke back a sob; how it hurt me to see her broken by anything!

The cut to her back was a gash that looked like something had considered impaling her, decided that the corset would be too difficult to get through, and instead decided to ram the corset whalebone into her back. The gash ran the length of her whalebone corset stay, hence the moan she let out semiconsciously when I removed the corset completely from around her. The blood trickled due to the irritation of removing the source of its injury, but I was able to rinse that away with the alcohol water. I gently dabbed down the length of Christine's back, while resting her head on my shoulder and singing softly into her ear. I sang her old Swedish lullaby, having found it in that book on Sweden and mastering it in the time I had the book in my possession. She went completely relaxed when she heard my voice, as if she knew she would be alright with me leading her through this nightmare.

The pangs of desire were quelled by my heartbreak at the suffering she was enduring at my hand through the aide I was giving her. The front of her gown was slowly falling to her waist; I had to keep one hand holding it around her to keep it up. If it came down I could not guarantee I would allow it to go unnoticed and adored. I could not do that to her, or to me.

To ensure I could comfort her while doing this painful task, I continued to hold her, she was pressed tightly against my front as I was cleaning her wound. I hit a spot that caused her great discomfort and she arched her back into me closing the space and bringing her forward, her face mere breaths away from mine. Surprised by her sudden reaction to the process, I looked away to the wound, trying to keep her from focusing on me, in case she could remember any of this. My attention returned to the wound immediately when I saw it's severity. It ran deep here, it was beginning to bleed harder, and I had to find a way to stop it soon or there would be trouble. This must have been where the object that attempted to impale her contacted her corset. It was bruised already around the gash, and she was in distress, moving whenever I tried to examine the gash with my hand. Finally she said, "No, Erik, it hurts, please don't…" Then she relaxed her tense muscles in my arms again, having once more returned to the haze of dream and reality she was in. This was becoming difficult fast; I had to keep her relaxed so that I could tend to her with out causing her such discomfort and distress.

I would have to try to turn her around without hurting her. I began to lay her back down, blood dripping from her gash as I did so; I was so worried about her by now that I hardly thought to look at her. Hardly, however being no saint, I did find myself gazing lovingly for but an instant, before my mounting concern for her life aided me in turning her to her front with her dress drawn way up now to ensure she remained completely modest. It would not do to have the brothers at odds with me over my beloved as well, now would it?

There, I had her on her stomach I had to believe that this gash was our biggest problem, and that was problem enough. I knew the kidneys were back here, and they were fragile when injured. As well, if there would be infection, it would be difficult as the kidneys were known as some sort of filter; it was hard to believe that they would work if they were injured. Kidneys would be the very thing I believed she would need to use most for any infection. So, I stemmed the increasing blood flow with my cloth squares. I placed some with pure alcohol, I knew it would sting, but I had to ensure sterility inside and around the wound. I wanted to give it some time with the wound packed, and then I would remove it and bind the injury tightly so that it would be able to close and heal. No, this was not a random incident; whoever did this to her wanted it to look like an accidental injury but I think they must have hurt her and placed her in the carriage after it rolled to cover up for trying to painfully and slowly kill Christine.

The injuries were not consistent, and she was too well hidden for it to be happenstance from the accident. I became so angry then that I began to pace the floor while waiting for the alcohol to absorb into her back a bit more. I knew it hurt as she was writhing in the bed now, agony etched on her face and small moans coming from her precious lips.

I had to control my rage and go calm her now. I put thought of this out of my mind and returned to her side, stroking her arms and rubbing her neck and cheek, I softly sang more to her in Swedish, I figured she would not think it was me if she heard Swedish. She would believe it had been her imagination and it was better that way. As far as she knew, I didn't speak Swedish. I had to decide if I would ever let her know I was here; for now, I wanted to keep my presence secret from her. I had to know if she was married, and I had to figure out who would have done this to her –and above all, why. This was not what I had in mind when I came here to live. Now I was going from prospective Brother to Inspector in an instant. I looked up and wryly noted; "God, your humor is so incredible that it even amuses me at times. You are truly a master of all things, for how else did this happen? To the one place I can find peace you bring the only woman capable of rending that peace apart. You are a brilliant playwright; surely you should make this one an opera. You truly are a master in Your craft. I nod to your talents."

When I returned to her, I removed the cloth with the alcohol and placed a dry piece of cloth upon her wound. It was still bleeding quite a bit, though it was thinner, indicating it was slowing down. I decided to put a couple more pieces of cloth over her back, and I needed to bind them tightly with strips of my robe. I ripped two lengths from the bottom hem, then I wrapped them around her from the front, they went around two times and I tightened it slightly and tied it. She was moving around a bit, as it was very painful to her bruised body to have to bind it once more after releasing the corset only minutes before. She reached for her forehead, trying to form a thought, having recovered yet more consciousness as a result of the pain inflicted upon her by me wrapping her wound.

God, I hoped she would not get an infection. I had no way of knowing how long she had been out there. A tear escaped unbidden as I looked at her and imagined the hours she had suffered before I arrived to save her. Again I thought, _Where the hell was Raoul?_ I was beginning to wonder at his part in this whole morbid affair. Was this on account of me? Had I something to do with why this happened to Christine? All I knew at this time was that Christine had, at some point prior to now, been in the Vicomte de Chagny's company.

How could I have thought I could leave her to the brothers to tend to? I could not drag myself from her side; having found her, it was impossible to part yet again. I was afraid she would finally and wholly leave me if I did. What would I do if she left me again? I would no doubt have to deal with my own emotions and fears, but I was not willing to think of that right now. She lived still; it was not time to worry myself, yet!

Before turning her to her back yet again, knowing that she had that injury and I had tended to it, I proceeded to refasten her dress as best I could without the use of a corset. I threw the corset angrily against the wardrobe, hating it for hurting my dear one. Then I thought about the fact that it may very well have saved her life, and retracted my anger just a bit.

Now that she was slightly more decent, I was able to check her arms and legs for any other injuries she may still have. I didn't believe she would have any more, but I still had to check to see if she had any broken or dislocated bones. I checked her right arm and slowly moved down to her hand, feeling the fine bones along the way. Everything felt alright, and there was no sign of discomfiture on her face, so I moved on to her other arm, feeling it the same way, I got to the wrist and noticed there were marks from someone's grip on her. They had bruised the delicate bones of her wrist, and she moaned and moved a bit when I felt there. It appeared her wrist had been dislocated and now was just painful from the earlier injury. I went back to her right wrist to ensure that she had not been bound or something without my keen eye noticing any marks the first time I looked. Sure enough, there were marks. She had been bound; she looked as if they had done considerable planning of this crime, having bound her prior to injury. Fighting back my mounting rage, I examined her further. Her right leg, _forgive me, my dear, for this intrusion, but I must see if there are any marks or injuries to you. Pray you don't remember this, as I want you to only know purity in your life. I love you Christine, and mean you no harm, my precious angel of music,_ I said very softly to her, though she was unable to hear, having finally relaxed to unconsciousness

I expected to see some sort of struggle evident on her legs, her right leg felt nothing short of exquisite; though I held concern for her well-being first, I allowed myself to revel in the feel of her skin, soft under my fingertips. I could not help but linger just the briefest of moments at her ankle, massaging her foot as I finished inspection of the right leg. When I moved to the left leg, I noticed a gash and bruise on the shin of her leg. I feared it may have been broken, it was in need of cleaning and dressing at the very least, but until she was back on the mend, we would not have to worry about binding the bone. It appeared to be aligned well, it was hard to tell if it was broken or merely a bruised bone. I chose to err on the side of caution and bind her leg up a bit for now, more securely later when she had to try to walk. For this it took several more minutes of torturous alcohol water to soothe and clean the wound, then I put a clean cloth over her wound. I finished by tearing three more strips of my fabric from the hem of my robe, bringing it close to my knees. I wrapped the leg deftly and carefully paid attention to keep the wound protected. After I was done with all of that, I returned to her forehead, at the hairline, to soothe her gashed head. It had stopped bleeding but looked uncomfortable. I used regular water for this cleaning; I didn't want to irritate her skin any more than I had to already.

Feeling that I had accurately and completely assessed her injuries for now and ministered to them, I covered my angel, singing softly to her the Swedish lullaby as I walked through the mirror to the monastery to summon the brothers' help.

As Erik left the room through the mirror, Christine opened her eyes slowly; sure she was dreaming as she saw the figure retreating through a familiar looking mirror. "Erik" She called weakly. Then she returned to the dark oblivion she had been reduced to by her pain and injuries once more.


	7. Chapter 7 Oh, Christine

Chapter 7

"Oh, Christine"

_Christine_

I had such a dream. Erik was caressing me sweetly, as he was tending to my injuries; crying at my severe frailty and weakened disposition. Through all of this, I was able to do little more than weakly cry out his name once. Surely this was in fact a saintly monk who was tending to me with compassion and nothing more. My tortured mind was yet again trying to make it my Erik, here to help me when I most needed him. In truth, I have needed my Erik numerous times over the last seven months. How heartbreaking it was for me when they discovered the body of the Opera Ghost. They closed the case and were rid of him quite hastily after the chandelier incident; I was not freed so easily.

It felt like I woke from a sensational dream, or dream-turned-nightmare, suddenly. Tears softly falling down my cheek, I groped to see anything in the small measure of light in this strange room. There, over from the foot of the bed I lay in, I saw a figure retreating into a mirror. "Erik!" I cried. Then I knew it was surely another dream and I returned to dark oblivion. One thing was different now though; Erik was there, in that darkness. Somehow he was nearby and it was not so bad. _I can do this with you beside me, my dark angel of music. Please stay by my side and guide me?_

I was confused about what I was dreaming and what was actually happening to me. In the midst of it all I seem to recall a strangely familiar touch gently examining my arms and my legs. Suddenly, the faceless touch hit my left wrist which was very sore and sent shocks of pain shooting up my arm. I found the gentle touch reassuring to my frazzled nerves. My leg seemed to brand a sharp pain up to my head when it was manipulated. I now had no doubt someone was checking my injuries. I also sensed for the second time this evening, a dull ache deep into my middle from my back. I felt this and a headache so bad that it was hard to keep conscious, though I feared unconsciousness and the mental pain that held for me.

When 'out cold', I relived moments in my life that I wanted to forget. God, how I wanted to forget. In my head the person who was inspecting my injuries and ministering to them was my Angel, my Erik; I was calling to him. Erik. He did not correct me on his name, though I knew it could not be my Angel. At the time, I was so sure of his touch, his voice in my head, guiding me through this pain. It was so confusing and foggy. I needed Erik right now, and it did not matter if I found out later it was all a dream; he was there with me, through all of this, helping me to survive. Never once did Raoul cross my mind through this ordeal.

Cold dreams and nightmares were dancing around my mind; I had no idea how long this continued, only that I was feeling horribly out of sorts. I opened my eyes and realized it was light out. I was alone in a strange room. I heard singing off in the distance; I didn't recognize where it was coming from but the song was quite comforting. I felt as if I was in church with the solemn sounds and the colors of the light pouring in the stained glass window. However, the room itself was an eerie copy of my dressing-room at the Populaire. I must have been dreaming yet, this was so strange; where was I? Deciding that I could be stuck in here with no answers for quite some time, I determined that it would be prudent to get out of bed and go find the source of the singing. Sitting up in the bed, I felt once more the intense aches of the gash on my head, and my back was unbearably sore. When I went to catch myself with my hands, I realized the left wrist ached and was bound. I didn't even get to move my legs. I lay back down feeling defeated, I could be here for some time with the singing going on out there and no one in range to hear me if I try to get someone's attention.

Suddenly the door gently began to open, there was a hooded person entering the room with a tray. I pretended to be asleep, partially closing my eyes quickly. The hooded man—from the way he moved, I knew it was not a woman—looked at me and bowed his head slightly, almost in reverence to my presence, and placed the tray on the table next to my bed. Then he began to turn around and leave. I begged for him to wait.

"Excuse me, good Monsieur, might I be able to ask you a question?" My voice sounded so weak and hoarse, I hardly recognized it. The person stood straight up with their back to me and merely shook their head no, and then they quickly left the room. Why had they done that? I was not rude, why would they feel that they needed to leave when I woke, did they not think I might want to know what happened? Was I going to ever get answers? I groaned in frustration, it was rather loud, louder than I meant it to be. The singing and music stopped abruptly. Moments later, there was a soft knock at the door to which I gratefully answered, "Please, come in."

The door opened slowly once more. The person who entered the room this time wore no hood over his head. He walked quietly over to my bedside and spoke; "Good morning, Mademoiselle, I am Brother James; you are the honored patient and guest of the brothers at the Monastery de le Saintete'. I wish to ask if you are feeling well. You, young lady, have been through a rough ride and we are still concerned that you may have a long road ahead of you to recovery."

I was in a monastery. How in the world did I get here? Obviously, I was mistaken in my belief that I had been saved by Erik; my angel would never have born the quiet simplicity of a monastic life. Yet, I felt him all around me. I could not explain why, I just felt his comfort and protection in everything surrounding me. I was grateful to this man for introducing himself finally and telling me where I was, though I knew not where this monastery was located. My mind was so fuzzy about how I got here. How did I get injured? I was going to the seaside to be married to Raoul; I had left Paris in Raoul's carriage. Raoul had been with me on horse back. I asked him to sit with me, but he preferred to ride along side me on his horse at the moment, so I settled back in the hansom carriage bearing the de Chagny coat of arms, feeling strange that soon I would share that crest. I remember nothing else from that point to waking here. Where was Raoul?

And why didn't I think to wonder where he was sooner? I still was so weak; I had to wait to get more answers as my head began to feel quite cloudy. "Good Brother James, thank you for telling me where I am; I feel so confused. I have many more questions, but I am afraid I must save for another time as I fear I am rather tired now. I thank you for your kindness to keep me here and minister to my injuries. I have no recollection how I was injured; in fact I find myself feeling very lost. If you will excuse me, I must close my…"

Ahh, the familiar unconsciousness I have grown to know so well. What had always caused me to just lose consciousness so easily, I do not know; some people can hold on and some just crumble in one moment. I was the latter.

It was difficult to try to find my way back from the place I went to when I lost consciousness. It would vary from time to time, but always came inexorably back to Erik. All my life seemed to have lead to Erik, and since he left he is all my life has been. I know he is gone, though I have not found a way to let him go. It was worse in the darkest hours of night, or times like now when my injuries kept me in and out of consciousness. I was stuck in an emotional limbo, and there was no easy way out of it. If only I could see Erik again, talk to him, touch him, and tell him how much he meant to me. I felt a tear trickle down my cheek as I regained consciousness once more. I woke feeling like a murderer; I was sure that it was my rebuke of Erik that caused his death as indisputably as if I had killed him myself. I was so unworthy of this good monastery, of life at all. I fully deserved what ever had placed me here and so badly wounded. I would just have to accept this as my fate. I was evil and there was nothing for me now that even Raoul was gone. There had been little enough reason left for me to live when they found Erik's body, but now what small future I may have found with Raoul, well, that was gone too, as I now knew there was no way I could go to him, Erik was too much a part of me, I could not forsake my soul. He seemed to know it to, for he was not here, surely he would have been by my side if he was. Why didn't they just let me die? Who was responsible for saving my wretched soul? I would surely have to pay them back for their treachery.

I woke to a couple of lit candles around the room, there was a solitary person moving about tending to the candles and water in a basin. I wanted to get out of this bed, see where I was; I tried to speak, my throat very raw, mouth dry and sticky. All that came from my lips was a croak. _Oh God_, I thought, _thank you for not allowing Erik to hear that abhorrent sound from the golden throat he gave me_.

_Erik _

What in the world was I doing? How could I bring her here? I should have left her in that wreck. She deserved it; she had made her choice, and it was none of my concern what happened to her from that point on. She left me for dead, why couldn't I repay the favor? Even as I thought this, I knew the reason; it was because I had just spent seven months in agony over her choice. Pitiable, but I now held hope that given this last chance, maybe Christine would stay with me. I knew I was being a fool, but where Christine was concerned I was always, shall we say, less than reasonable.

I would not go running to her and announce my presence; maybe I would decide not to tell her anything. I knew that when I told Brother Stephen to search for any others he found no one. I knew that whatever had happened to Raoul, I would not know until Christine told someone whether he was traveling with her or not. It didn't look as though he was, for there had been no clothes of his in the carriage; I drew a small comfort from that. I wondered if maybe she was leaving him and had heard that I was here. Maybe Raoul got angry with her and decided to hurt her and leave her for dead to show me the consequences of my obsession. No, it didn't fit; I could not imagine what the situation was. I was very angry with the idea that she was here in my room, in my bed, once again. For all I knew she belonged to that brat; he might have known her as I had only dreamt of knowing her, God; it was torturing me so to think that way. I had to purge that from my mind. I had come so far, but now the tortured pictures and imaginations of my past were back in full lecherous force. I had to stop; she was seriously injured and may be here a while, so I would have to disengage myself from her care. It was not going to happen yet, though.

I lit the candles in the room and brought fresh water in her basin. I wanted to get a pitcher of fresh water and a cup for when she woke. No doubt she would be thirsty. There didn't appear to be any fever, thank God, but she was weak and the wounds, three days later, looked very angry and bruised. Her leg was indeed broken, so I set and bound it well this time. Christine's wrist had apparently been dislocated by being pulled abruptly, though it was reset and healing, seeming to be a bit less painful when checked and bound last. The gash in her head was healing well; I had to stitch it up, but I was very careful and used thread soaked in alcohol to ensure it was sterile enough to enter my beloved and not be a hindrance to her recovery. The gash looked much better; it was probably the most healed of all her injuries. Her back, I was still rather worried about. I wondered if there were any bones harmed where the whalebone of her corset had been shoved into her so badly. It still was oozing and I hoped that I should not have stitched it as well, I was not eager to stitch flesh so close to bones covering nerves. I still was not sure there would be no infection. I was constantly bathing it with alcohol water, trying to keep the infection away. So far it seemed to be slowly improving, though I would have felt better if it didn't look so angry and wouldn't bleed now and then. The bruising around it made me cringe; the sight of such wounds on Christine nearly destroyed my composure. Every time I needed to check it, I would battle my heart to gain the courage to look at it; I wanted to forget its existence. I was lost in these thoughts when I heard the most awful croak coming from the bed. I jumped from my thoughts immediately and placed the hood over my mask and wig, to keep her from seeing my face; it would not due for her to know of me, at least not yet.

I turned to see her face, my breath caught in my throat; it was so hard to gaze upon her when she was awake and see no recognition in those beautiful brown eyes. She was troubled. I wanted so to go to her side and hold her hand, comforting her, and tell her all would be well. The truth was, I didn't know if it would be well, and she would be shocked to see me. I was undoubtedly the last thing she thought of these days. If I was that silly foolish boy though, she would take me back without question; Christine would forgive a multitude of transgressions for that perfect face of her youth. Then I remembered the photograph; it brought the reality of the choice she had made back into focus. I took a deep breath and walked over to her bedside, the best imitation of Brother Timothy I could muster without having to speak to her. I approached the bed and nodded my head, bringing her a cup of water I had absently poured while my mind was circling.

I set it by the bed on the table, turning I helped her sit up, when I touched her I nearly recoiled from the feeling her touch had on me. It was hot all the way up my arms, her hands sliding the robe up them unconsciously as she struggled to move. Soon she was touching my bare arms. They were sun-kissed now, not the white they had been when I lived in my lair. She paused and moved the rest of the way to sitting up in the bed, her face white and beaded slightly with sweat from the exertion. I propped her up with the pillows, two of them, quickly. It was enough, when used against the back of my four poster bed, to keep her supported adequately. She nodded her head, a strange look crossing her features before she accepted the proffered cup of water from my hand. I knew that when I touched her she had felt something strange and familiar; I needed to get out of there, _now_. I nodded yet again and mumbled, "If that is all, Madame?"

_Christine_

There was something familiar about that voice. I would have sworn it was my Angel, but I knew he was no angel, and I knew he was dead. There was no way, it could be him; that recognition was just my tortured mind wanting to bring him to me again. I took a drink and answered, "Mademoiselle, not Madame." That was all I wanted to say for now. "Merci, your great kindness is appreciated."

I could have sworn that he stopped walking for just a moment when I said that I was a Mademoiselle, though I could not for the life of me figure out why he would have thought I was a Madame. I was not so old that I must be married, was I?

This brother just seemed so familiar to me. I could not figure out why. He left the room and rounded the corner in the hall. I was alone in this strange room. I was glad for the candles, and the oil lamps he had lit, too. I was able to see the room for the first time, really. It was a profusion of red and gray, beautifully decorated, with a large beautiful mirror with an ornately carved and very intricate piece of work for a frame. This room seemed so familiar to me; I felt at home here. It was all so unreal that I began to wonder if I was perhaps still unconscious.

Continuing to gaze around for some time, I finally finished my water and placed, with some difficulty, the cup back onto the table by my bed. I straightened out with some considerable pain accompanying each move I made. I decided to close my eyes and try to get some rest; it would seem that I was past the passing-out phase of this injury, thankfully. I fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming of the one person this place could somehow inspire; even in a Monastery he would have hated. The object of my dreams for so long now, my Erik, my angel; I knew somehow that he was still with me, here, and I could not discern the reality from my sense that he was. In my dream he was the one who pulled me from the twisted carcass of the carriage; we had gazed upon each other with love written all over our faces, staring as we had the night that I left him. I cried out his name then for the pain of having left him. Doing without him for seven months had left me in such pain that all I could manage to say was, "Erik, I am so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you. I never wanted to see you suffer! I am sorry. Please forgive me, my love, I miss you. Why did you let them kill you?"

The reality was that I had just said all of this, I had spoken of my pain, and little did I know that it fell on the ears I meant it for, sending him into a deep pain of his own.

I woke then, not sure what time it was. The sun was beginning to come through the window; it lit the wall aside of my bed with the beautiful colors of the stained glass once more. I gazed across to the doorway just as Brother Timothy was departing the room. I was a bit disconcerted to think that he had been in my room while I slept, though I knew that his vows would not allow anything inappropriate. Rather, I didn't want my subconscious thoughts to betray me and shock his holy ears. I knew that if I mentioned Erik and Raoul in my sleep I would sound very wanton to someone who didn't know the story behind the names. It would cheapen our whole story. I then figured that it was silly to worry over this so I closed my eyes and finally said my morning prayers.

Meanwhile, the brothers were dealing with the aftermath of the carriage wreck. Brother James had said to send word to the Gendarmes of a body lying in the wreckage and tell them of the accident and the girl who arrived and needed tending to. Before this could be accomplished, there was a visitor who came to the door of the monastery to retrieve the body, claiming that it was his responsibility as the man had worked for him. This was acceptable to the brothers, as the man had the same coloring as the foreigner who was lying dead in their shed. They were eager to end the mess and give the body to the man. They didn't want to get into an international dispute over this incident-both the dead man and the living employer seemed Persian or Indian-and were fine with tending to the woman brought here as the man had suggested, to lessen the questions of what happened. As well they were happy to let the dead man go with the official sent for him, his employer as it happened as well. That helped Erik more then he knew, as it kept the Gendarmes away from his doorstep as well.


	8. Chapter 8 What next?

Chapter 8

What next?

She did it again, how did she always do it, consciously, unconsciously; she was able to take my resolve and throw it down stomping it to the rubble with just a few choice words.

"Mademoiselle, not Madame" My God, she was not married. Why? After all these months, when she thought me dead, why not then? As if that was not enough to send my poor heart into a turmoil, she touched my bare arms, she relied on my strength once more, unquestioningly, and trustingly. I was in pieces on the floor when I had to walk out of the room and leave her. I remained just out of eyesight for the rest of the night, never sleeping, checking on her intermittently when I would think she was sleeping. I heard her saying my name, I didn't know what to do, fear crept round my heart at the thought that she might know it was me. Suddenly she spoke clear as day and I was speechless, motionless, and unable to do anything for a long time after this for the tears I shed. She spoke the words I never thought I would hear her say to me; "Erik, I am so sorry; I didn't mean to hurt you. I never wanted to see you suffer, I am sorry. Please forgive me, my love, I miss you. Why did you let them kill you?"

Oh God, did she say "My Love" to me? The knowledge that she thought that they had killed me yet gave me the courage to believe that she was dreaming, though she was serious about her apology, I could tell that, and it made my heart soar. I began to sing quietly as I moved about the place, looking in on her and smiling at her. Once I even came up to her and tenderly, as a breeze, caressed her cheek, fighting the urge until it became too much, I softly placed a kiss on her cheek. She stirred but did not wake. I turned and left the room, my heart beating so fast I feared it would wake her with its frantic actions. She was a vision and she was not married, she was single, it was too much for me to believe. I still could have her? I had to devise a plan. Surely, I was ordained to be with her; she arrived here in my life once more when I was dead to the world and learning to live a solitary if not happy, peaceful life without her. Surely, it is with Your help she is here now. I will be smart this time and I will not let jealousy poison my emotions any more. "God, You will guide me, won't You?" I said quietly.

I know I was just so pathetic to feel this way yet. How unbidden the feeling was as well as unlikely that things would ever change, still I sat there and all I could do was hope. I still loved her as much as I had the night she arose from the child's body in the aria she brought to such astounding emotional heights. I could hear her singing yet again in my head; she was there just as much as I was in her head, I knew I was. Maybe we were both crazy, maybe we belonged together for that reason. I didn't know and was not sure I ever would though it was beyond belief to think that she was here and in my bed once more. While she was here, she was NOT with that boy she was mine for a time yet again.

Morning was coming, the brothers would be holding mass. I had to close the door to the room and depart; there was no way she would believe I was a monk if I did it not at least appear to be attending mass. Nor would the brothers believe that I had not ravaged her if I was to remain with her any longer. They were all curious as to the relationship that I had with this woman since they witnessed my reaction to her injuries the night I found her, as well as the fact that I had scarcely been away from her side since her clandestine arrival. Furthermore, I let no one else assist in her recovery up until now. Things would have to change. It was in their disposition to wonder, but they would not cross that periphery and ask, they waited in case I should wish to tell them someday. I further suspected they had resolved that their monastery would remain unchanged now that Christine was here consuming my every waking thought.

Standing up from the chair I had been sitting on resolutely, I dragged myself out of the room, closing the door quietly. My intentions today were to be preparatory to the remodeling of the sitting room and create a fine vestibule from their simple foyer. I knew that they needed to be done, I had to complete this for them, they were so good and now they were unquestioningly tending to my beloved, I was indebted to them, You too, if You have set the scene for me to get my Christine, and a chance at happiness after all.

My heart was actually feeling quite light once more when I began the journey to my room in the monastery to change into work attire. Christine had that affect on me most recently, when I thought about how she could be dead by now, the fact that she was still alive and here. I could not help but feel as if I was at last experiencing heaven in some way. It was getting cold out now, but I really never noticed the chill in the air as I ventured outside to return to the monastery. I had yet to procure the grapevine and my forgotten parchment, negligently left out that fateful night when my Christine reappeared into my existence. Then, contrary to what the brothers thought, renovation could begin.

I returned to my room in the monastery to freshen up and change before proceeding to retrieve my things outside and begin the restoration process. Before I reached my room, Brother Michael approached me and bade me come to his room to talk.

"Yes Brother Michael, what is wrong?" _He is the monk who cleans the monastery. He looked quite shy as he turned to retrieve something that looked partially burned. _

"Well, Erik, I was cleaning your room this morning when I ran across these and was wondering if there is something going on here that maybe Brother James should know about?"

I looked at what Brother Michael had in his hand and immediately looked away. _Shit, the drawings, they didn't burn completely. How could I be so careless?_ You could see Christine's face in them and it was obvious that they were not entirely decent, even burned. They showed more than any monk would have thought to draw. More importantly, they showed that I had known Christine pretty well before she arrived on their doorstep. Though they may have guessed it by the way that I was attending to her and letting few of the brothers help. Now, they had intimate likenesses I had drawn, partially burned (though I thought totally) of her, and it was not going to bode well on her reputation among these pious men. How do I tell them that I am only slightly obsessed with this woman I taught her how to sing and had designs on her mere months ago? Was it possible that it was only months, it felt so much longer. Sadly, these were the workings of my angst-ridden mind, and she was the inspiration to my most beautiful and poignantly erotic musical interludes. _I thought well, here is another cruel twist, they have discovered the perverse person I still am, and what shall I do now? Surely, God had abandoned me once more…_

Brother Michael looked at me with a bit of disdain at my indiscretion. He acted as if he knew more than he was letting on and finally I met his eyes with a hard glint and just snarled reaching for the partially burned pictures saying very brusquely,

"From now on I shall clean and tend to my own room, thank you. I hope you will recall that I did not arrive here as a Monk, and I have not taken vows to be celibate. You have no right to pry into my life. As such, I have done nothing to warrant this questioning of my motives. Further, I thought I had destroyed these pictures. What I do in private is my own affair, pray you keep this to yourself, or I shall have to take matters into my hands where my privacy is concerned."

I grabbed the sketches from Brother Michael's hand; "I believe these belong to me!" I then turned and walked out of his room slamming his door for effect. I proceeded to the front door with heavy steps as I wanted to scare him into silence. Christine's safety and reputation depended on him remaining quiet about this. I felt the old anger and rage bubbling beneath the surface. I was in too much of a state right now to go and fetch anything for the brothers.

The sense that this place and their pietistical expectations were stifling me was too much. I needed release, so I went instead to the chapel to play the organ; _my_ Christine, having been neglected for far too long. Then I thought, maybe it was time to lose the name; it was admittedly confusing with Christine the _girl_ right next to Christine the _organ_. Ce la vie! It did not matter for now, I would do what I had to, and I was not in the mood to analyze anything right now. Placing the partially burned sketches upside down on the organ and removing my mask, which I found was now also becoming oppressive to me, I approached the organ and sat down. Her great and grand beauty enchanted me. I fervently touched her ivory keys and immediately began to feel the tension release from my rigid arms. The heat of passion for the music I loved and the beauty I played through my fingers returned to me like a lost lover, convincing me that no, this organ had to retain its name, for there could be no other love I wished to return to me. I played an old French melody I had learned from the Priest when he was trying to introduce me to the beauty of the world as a youth. One of the very few good things I held on to in the attempted religious education of my childhood.

Somehow, without realizing it, I began to play some of the simple tunes played for Christine when we were working on her scales back at the Populaire. I could almost hear her singing them with me as I moved across the keys deftly. It entranced me and led me further into the memories as I began to play music that was more seductive. In the heat of the moment, I could have sworn I heard someone singing the words to these songs, which fuelled my need to continue further. I could not help myself, absorbing the fiery emotions evoked by the music as I did. Suddenly I realized where I was and instantaneously the enchantment was gone. I lifted my hands from the keys and was sure that I heard someone continuing to sing, softly and ardently. Her voice had become so perfect in my mind; I closed my eyes and reveled in the beauty created by that long missed voice. God, she was an angel, her music spellbinding me as nothing before nor since. I picked up my hands and placed them on the keys, preparing to play more accompaniments to keep her singing in my mind. Before long, I realized that Christine must be awake and she must have heard me playing. It was not my imagination; she was softly singing the song, even though I had stopped playing the music. I sat and listened to her for a bit longer, before chiding myself for my carelessness. She would figure out I was here if I was not more careful about what I did. Abruptly, I removed my hands from the keys, deciding to write some of the improvements for the score I had been working on earlier. I lost myself in thought and left my hands to my side for a brief time in the process.

_Christine…..._

I was drifting in and out of sleep. I could not shake the peaceful feeling that somehow Erik was here. He was all around me, he was in this room, and it was so like my room in the Populaire. The mirror, my God, the mirror, I was half expecting him to walk through it and grasp my hand to lead me to his home. I could not believe the striking similarities in of all places, the chapel of a monastery. It was amazing to see that there was somewhere else I could feel this way.

Somewhere in my dreams, as if that was not enough, I could have sworn I heard some songs that Erik used to play to me. Fact and fiction were fast losing their difference in my mind. In this dream, I decided to lose myself for a bit. I began to sing softly to the songs playing in my head. I finished my song and rested back on the comfortable bed shaped like a swan. As the black filmy curtain descended around me, I wandered off to peaceful slumber with thoughts of Erik in my head. There he was, next to me on the swan bed, saying that he was alive and I would be all right; forgiving me for choosing Raoul and leaving him behind. He gently caressed and kissed my cheek then, I could swear I felt it and my eyes fluttered, almost opening while I smiled a serene smile for Erik.

Once more we were in his gondola and slowly, gently we drifted away, singing beautiful songs we made to express our thoughts of elation over being together in utter adoration of each other. There were no boundaries for our love now, not in my dreams. Suddenly my dreams got out of control and there were things happening that I could not stop.

I was frightened and confused, he was angry with me for leaving him and going with Raoul. I tried to tell him that I came back later and he was gone. I heard he was dead and it tore me into pieces. He didn't care because it was my fault he was dead. Somewhere in my mind I heard "Dies Ires" being played, my blood ran cold, I saw in my minds eye Erik lying in a coffin, then he woke. It was too much. I was crying so hard, he would not listen to me. I called out his name in a total panic.

Then I woke up. It was a dream, he was dead, and it was over. Nothing I could do would change that reality. Why was everything making Erik come to mind so much suddenly. The room, the music, the mirror, they conspired with my tortured memories to make me feel sure I am going insane. Above all the inconsistencies I gathered already, was the fact that this was a monastery, why would a monastery bring Erik to mind with such stubborn clarity? This was the last place I would consciously think to find him. It was all just so unlikely and it made no sense. Yet I sensed him in some strange and unreasonable way I could not explain. I had to get out of this bed. After trying to move at all, even to get a drink on my own, I realized I still needed more strength to deal with the intense pain I still felt everywhere.

Deciding that there must be something to help me to move around and get out of bed; I began to call out to try to get someone's attention. "Hello, is there anyone here?" _Surely, there is someone in attendance of the chapel in case I wake. _"I beg of you, please good brother, if you are here, come to me, I wish to ask you something." Suddenly the door opened slightly and there was a figure standing at the door. A hood obscured his face; I could not see which brother I was addressing. I tried to hide the fact that his sudden arrival was disconcerting. These men surely could not and would not know how to console a girl who was distressed.

The voice quietly rose from the robed man; it was so familiar, though very hoarse. "May I help you?" I half expected to hear 'my dear' issue from that voice in my ears. I knew then surely I was going insane my mind playing tricks on me, making me believe he is everywhere. Deciding that I could not face anyone right now after all, I bade him leave, which he seemed all too glad to do. I began to cry and hid my eyes the best I could. I do not recollect how long I was there crying, but I know that I uttered Erik's name several times in my distress. I could not help it, his name was all that was on my lips or in my thoughts and this room made it so painful for me it was the worst wound I carried at this time. I soon gave way to exhaustion once more and fell back to sleep.

Having slept for some time, I woke fairly well rested, lighthearted and sure things were going to be better today. I was so excited to try to move again. I knew that I had slept well and rested enough to try to walk this time. I would do it with or without help. Then I looked down, my leg having been bound even tighter sometime since I had last tried to walk. It was going to be even more difficult to move it this time; my resolve to do so was such that nobody was going to stop me. I was going to be involved in my recovery and get out of here. I had to return to Paris by Meg and Mme Giry soon. I knew now that Erik was still too fresh in my heart and mind for me to even consider marrying Raoul, besides, where was he, shouldn't he be here if he really cared and accepted the reality that I was still bound to Erik in my heart. He claimed to be able to accept me anyway, wanting whatever I could give him of myself. Obviously this was not true, there was no way I could marry him now, or ever, anymore. Not after he left me here as he has.

Raoul never understood how I could feel that way about a _monster_, and granted, his deformities and scars were not pretty to look at, but when I saw him I saw a soul and I saw his cruelty borne of the cruelty he endured by others in his life. He knew no compassion and could not practice what he had never experienced for himself. When I showed him betrayal he was denied the compassion he thought he finally had found and was so intrigued with in me. I was as guilty of those murders as he was for I had a chance to show him love and compassion finally igniting his soul and I ruined it with my fear and insecurity. I didn't trust my own soul when it was crying out for him. My soul saw his beauty and that was all I saw now in my minds eye. I missed the sight of him, for I had found his soul burning in his eyes when he looked at me and it sparked my ache now in memory. Those haunting blue green eyes, they were so deep and disturbing to gaze into, yet I saw them in my dreams and drew comfort and strength from them.

As I began to work my body forward to standing, I could not help but smile a sad smile at the course my thoughts had taken. When I thought of Erik lately, all I could do was to smile sadly. There was no regret at the way I felt, it was just a sad hollow longing I had grown used to in the months since his death. I longed for him so that I had aligned myself with that one monk, un-named and unknown by me, really, whose only similarity was in the fact that he reminded me so much of Erik. I knew it was dangerous to do that, but I felt such comfort in his presence yesterday evening, I hoped that he would be here again. I rose to my legs, and began to work my way across the room with the chair. I was considerably more immobile with the new binding on my leg, but it made it less painful for me to stand on it, being bound as it was. I was grateful for this surprise after all.

The sound of the organ beginning to play shocked me so much that I almost fell. Then I paused and listened for a moment. It was a Swedish tune I remembered my father playing on his violin to me when I was small. I listened still longer and decided to sit there and rest, listening for a while. The Swedish tunes turned into scales I had practiced with Erik, which must be a standard that all students of music must learn. I wondered if I was perhaps dreaming, if so I decided there would be no harm if I sang with them softly. Finally, I heard some of the seductive and alluring music Erik had played for me and taught me to sing towards the end of our association. I suddenly found tears in my eyes, I had to sing, I sat there singing. Suddenly the music stopped and I was not ready to do so yet. I continued to sing unaccompanied then. When I finished the song, I was intrigued. I had to meet the talented organist who knew of music even in a Monastery. Erik was the only soul I had met prior to this who could make music live and breathe as this soul now did.

_Erik……_

There was just no way that I could continue like this, I did not possess the strength to maintain anonymity from Christine if I persisted in tending to her. Alas, I had to allow Brother James to take care of her from now on. I would have to get reports and maybe come at night and look in on her as she slept, but I could not be here when she was awake. She was becoming too aware, and I had foolishly recreated the dressing room I frequented in Populaire too well when I built the room in which she was convalescing. How was I ever in my wildest dreams to know that Christine would eventually be there? This was the most unlikely of events I had ever witnessed, and the sense of irony was more than uncanny. I became more convinced that I had a very important part in Christine's life yet, and God was knocking me on the head trying to show me. Question was, did I feel inclined to listen to Him right now, after everything I had been through, and what He had allowed to befall Christine? I sometimes thought that there would be no way that I would listen to Him, now I wanted to listen to Him worse than I had ever dreamed possible. Not for the first time did I bow to the irony and sense of humor I knew God must have to have allowed this to transpire here. All I could do now was to figure out what I was supposed to be doing in all this and continue to do the most I could without harming Christine. The possibilities were endless, but I wanted to maintain my focus, so I had to think hard before I acted.

_Christine……_

I made it to the door and rounded the corner, there were two ways to go so I chose to go the way the music seemed to be coming from. Suddenly it stopped, again. This really was most infuriating. I wanted to see who was playing the organ. I had to see who was playing the organ, haunting my memories so torturously. I kept walking towards where I thought the music would be coming from and I found the entryway to the back of the chapel. There was someone on the bench. They were sitting there writing notes down on some parchment. They seemed to be so busy that I just stopped and watched. It was so like what Erik used to do. Suddenly their hands dropped to their side, where they sat in silent contemplation. Then I looked over on the organ to the left of the now abandoned parchment, there I could have sworn I saw a white half mask staring up at the ceiling. That is the last thing I remember until I woke in the bed once more.


	9. Chapter 9 Farewell, for now

Chapter 9

Farewell, for now.

_Erik-_

I was writing a particularly difficult switch from the way they had composed the Swedish lullaby to the way I heard it flow in my mind. I wanted to improve it and make it better so that I could play it for Christine some day and not hurt her with memories of her father. Like the original tune enough to warm her heart and bring her peace, different enough to know it was re-worked with love and compassion as she had shown me at one time.

Suddenly, I heard a sharp intake of breath and turned around just in time to see Christine falling to the floor of the chapel not too far behind me. I ran to her side to try to catch her, though I could only break her fall to the hard marble floor. Then I remembered that I did not have my mask on. Laying Christine down I went to position my mask back upon my face quickly before anyone else could enter the room. How careless of me to situate it where it could be seen by others. That was a lesson I would not soon forget. Placing the hood over my head for the time being, I returned to my darling. I swiftly drew her up to me, and picking her up, carried her over to the room, and returned her to _my_ bed. She was so frail, though she was determined not to stay that way by the looks of this stunt. It was getting dangerous for me to be here by her. I decided it was time to make use of the mirror mechanism I had placed in my room for very different reasons originally, and allow Brother James to tend to her care. I had to keep my distance until I knew what happened with her, and more importantly, where was that foolish boy. Then I would make my presence known.

I walked purposefully from the room after settling her in bed. She was still quite unconscious, which was good, it kept her still further from the knowledge of whether she had imagined that last scene or not. I would miss the times we almost met, though it was better this way for now. I had to figure out who was trying to hurt Christine before she was well, so that we could adequately protect her from further harm.

I began to wonder who exactly the driver of the carriage was. I could not imagine how they got a man from Persia or India to be their driver, it was intriguing and it made me curious as to the motives of the man and whether he was expendable to a plot to destroy Christine or not. It was very convenient another man from Persia or India should pick him up when it was not yet common knowledge he had died and what were the odds of someone else having been told already? I really did have to know where he was from definitively. It seemed as though someone was trying to keep the Gendarme away. While I did not want them there myself, I knew that if someone else did not either, there was surely trouble brewing. Someone had to be watching that whole situation happening. It was time for me to focus on why this happened and find someone to give me answers. I had to find this foreigner. First thing I needed to do was to speak with Brother James and let him know of the way things were, he had to know something, naturally not everything, though at the very least, what I knew about Christine's injuries. He would have to tell me what this foreign man looked like; and maybe a name since the brothers said he presented documentation of his identity. As well, I had to know, whether I liked it or not, where the hell that insolent Raoul was. How this other man could have made an appearance already, left, while there still was no sign of Raoul, or any other de Chagny for that matter, was a mystery to me.

Soon I arrived at the monastery proceeding to the sitting room. It was so much larger without the organ in this room. Absently I noted that I needed to bring out the beauty of the stone from which they had carved this room. Never mind, there would be time to plan that later. I had to find Brother James now.

Brother James came out of the kitchen area and I called to him; "Brother James, I need to speak to you."

"Yes, Erik, and I you. There are some questions we really must broach."

"Indeed?" I replied warily. Wondering to what, exactly, he was inferring, my mind quickly flashed to Brother Michael's previous discovery.

"Indeed!" He echoed. Shaking his head and beckoning me follow him. We went to my door, he bade me open and enter. I did so.

"Erik, there have been some very strange things going on since the night you discovered the Carriage wreck and pulled that young lady from the remains. I wish to discuss that with you now that I have at last got some of your attention from our fetching guest."

"As well, Brother James, I have heard some confusing stories and occurrences second hand and needed to ask you some questions about the man found dead that night, among other things."

"Erik, since you arrived I have made it a point to never ask you of your past or reason for remaining with us when you clearly are no nearer even consideration of our lifestyle then you were the day I found you on our doorstep. Though circumstances have become such that I now regrettably find it extremely necessary to discuss with you what you know of this unexpected guest you have been attached to since the day of her arrival. Now I don't mean to pry and I don't want you to feel that I am doing such, I just find it essential now to know what you know of this current situation and possible causes."

I paused for a long moment, here it was, I had to tell him something about the familiarity I had with Christine, how exactly should I do this and not subject us to scrutiny every time I sought out her company, conscious or unconscious. She was necessary to my life once more, how did I tell him gently that she was my every breath, heartbeat and thought of life at this moment. She paled all other thoughts occupying my life. I guess it would be adequate to admit she was an obsession I could not resist when so near to me. I just could not admit it to them. I decided there had to be a way to explain her and not compromise us; it never went well when I did. I also had to ensure that he did not say my name around her and let her know of my existence in her life once more. I thought carefully before the next words were spoken, to be sure I didn't give too much away at once.

"Brother James, Christine has meant much to me in my life, I have known her since she was 7, and assisted in raising her. She considered me her instructor at one time though I wish to request that you respect my privacy and not alert her to my presence at this time, if ever. Nor would I like to tell you more of the conditions surrounding our current relationship at this time. Bear in mind, I prefer to be the one to enlighten her with regards to my existence, when I am sure she is ready for the knowledge, if you do not mind. No matter what she says or if she directly asks you of me, please do not admit awareness of my existence here, or anywhere, her life may depend on successful denial of me. I require your help to protect her from that information until the time is right. Meanwhile, I believe she would be better served by your ministrations at this particular juncture in her recuperation. I have to travel away for a bit anyway, hopefully by my return she will be stronger and ready for news of my life here."

"Erik, I cannot say I understand any of this, however, I have noted that on the occasions I passed by and looked in on you two, you were very connected, I have heard her speak your name, as well as hearing you calling her in the night when you first arrived here. Further, brother Michael alleges to having found some half-burned sketches of this young woman, the likeness is striking, as are some of her poses as he put it. We are concerned about what may become known here as well as what remains unknown of your past. There are some things we need to discern or I am afraid we shall have to move her as soon as medically appropriate."

"What transpired in our past certainly had nothing to do with 'light', that much I assure you was part of the problem!" This slipped out of my mouth automatically, with a sarcastic smirk before I remembered with whom I was speaking. I composed myself, clearing my throat and starting over; "My apologies, Brother James, if that was rather, shall I say, impudent, however I beg you not to move Christine, her life is in great danger. She was engaged to the Vicomte de Chagny when I last saw her; I am assuming she still is. I have not seen her in a little over 7 months. We had a disagreement over her decision to marry him proceeding in my exiting her life. The extrication process was very difficult for me, as I suddenly realized the long years of tutelage had resulted in finding I was in love with her. It shocked me for, though I was not truly old enough to be her father, I felt protective over her, as the father she had lost surely must have felt. I chided myself over this development though I found myself powerless to end the feelings she created within me. I knew it could not be, so I knew there was no other choice but to leave her with the Vicomte. I was purging my feelings for her, through art and music, nevertheless, her return brought back all of the desire I had worked so hard to purge. I am but a man, I am not a monk, and consequently, I feel for women. This one, my spirit finds truly special in every sense of the word. In my opinion, too extraordinary for a mere boy of de Chagny's limited intelligence. It is hard for me to accept her choice of the Vicomte, and I have been struggling with it for some time. Though I did believe she was better off with him than with me, at the time, I thought safer. I now see that is not the case. I do not know if you are aware of this, Brother James, but the wounds she suffered, were inflicted with the sole purpose of killing her slowly. They were well thought out, intentional, thus my fear for her wellbeing. That knowledge angered me greatly, and I found need for isolation to work out why and how, there are no answers yet. I have no idea"…_I grew choked up here and needed to take a deep breath to compose my emotions…_ "…I need to go and find some answers without being discovered, for I have no idea who would wish for Christine to be dead, my fear is that I have somehow caused this to be visited upon her, that is why it is best for all concerned, they continue to believe I am dead. I wish to continue on, believed dead for the time being, until I know of my relevance in her safety. As well, I need to find out where that boy, _de Chagny_, is. Why is he not here with her, or at least looking for her? It would give the impression he does not care, that would be a _fatal_ mistake on his part; especially if that foolish boy had played some part in her current condition."

"Wait a minute Erik, fatal, what do you mean, fatal?"

"What is meant is that his life will be in danger as well. Whomever is looking to kill Christine quite probably will be after him also, no?" _I thought but did not say, unless I find he is somehow involved in this, and then I shall be executor of the "fatal" in his mistake._ "That is my experience. We have to find out the motives desiring her demise and who _they_ are who are responsible. The Gendarme will not see this; they do not notice these things. However, my experience and concern for her well being, allows me to think in these terms, making me the most appropriate one to seek those responsible."

"You sound as though you were planning to kill the Vicomte if he was negligent to Christine's state. That is why I was slightly alarmed." Thinking how best to put his knowledge without threatening Erik he began again; "I believe I could call you Phantom, no? Perhaps Opera Ghost? Do not look so surprised, I am in a remote place, yes, but I still am of this world as well. I suspected whom you were the night you came to me, I saw the mask though you tried so hard to hide it. Naturally, your reluctance to discontinue wearing your mask adds to the validity of my suspicions, there are relatively few who find it necessary to wear masks all the time. I also knew that all men have souls, yours needed ours, and we needed you to infuse your talent into our stale existence. It was a good situation, you are a remarkable person Erik, with so many God given gifts, who is greatly troubled by problems of this world. The center of which is the young woman in our chapel. I feel that you torture yourself out of self-loathing; there is no reason to feel that way. The ignorance of men is not God, he loves all he has created, and this is true, despite what any man may say to you or of you. You are worthy and there should be no reason not to allow you to exist the same as any other man. I was concerned with your past and your great anger, however I suspected that acceptance would perhaps change that portion of your heart, allow you some peace at last. I have been grateful to have the chance to show you compassion and consideration; I felt it was God's challenge to me and my Monastery."

Erik looked down, he felt so many mixed emotions at this moment, confusion, was it true, and he had never thought of that before, it did make some sense? Surprise, he knew all this time and never said a thing. He never turned in Erik, though he knew he was a murderer. Gratitude, he accepted Erik, did not try to 'Save' him, and he was compassionate. He was feeling several other things too, though these were the ones written on his exposed features when he looked at Brother James. He knew then that God had indeed sent him into Brother James path, to prove that there was more than one person in this world he had created, who could feel compassion without needing a perfect person to impart that emotion. He was shocked; this must be what it was like to have a friend. He knew immediately that he would not allow anything to happen to his friend, Brother James either.

Erik began; "I am speechless; I have only ever been unconditionally accepted by one other individual, the young lady laying in my room aside the chapel. She was my reason for living once, and now you have given me acceptance allowing me peace from more than one future. For the first time in my life, I have a choice, Christine was my only future once, it is good to know this, maybe I would be able to let her go should I have to, without losing my sanity or practically dying of a broken heart this time. I thank you genuinely for that, Brother James."

Brother James sensed the sincerity in Erik and knew then that he had been right in trusting his instincts, there was much good within him yet, it just needed to be brought out. He was deeply troubled and needed compassion from those around him. Erik was not going to harm them, would protect them, they would survive with his help. This made Brother James feel much better. When Christine had arrived, he grew worried that Erik would lose what he had regained of his sanity, but having talked to him now, he knew what was driving him and he could assist him if asked with knowledge that, at the end of the day, Erik would do the right thing. This was what he had been praying for Erik since the troubled man showed up in such a state that fateful day slightly more than half a year ago.

"Now, Brother James, I believe I need to find out some more about the one who came to retrieve the dead man from the carriage accident. Was he Indian or Persian, and did he leave his name, as well as what were his credentials?"

"Yes Erik, he was a Persian, he called himself daroga, Nadir, I believe. He said the man he was picking up was called Darius. I guess he worked for Nadir, they were to protect Christine for a friend whom they vowed this duty to." Pausing to look at Erik, as his exposed face grew ashen, Brother James continued; "Might that friend have been you, Erik?"

Visibly shaken, Erik looked at Brother James with wary eyes. Suspicious of how much Brother James really knew of him, it was slightly disconcerting and it left him questioning whether he should remain here or not, once more. He had to answer Brother James though, so he shook his head slowly. "Yes, I fear it was an unspoken vow, I knew not how far they would go to try to keep her safe. I find myself feeling responsible now, in some way for the tragedy unfolding, even more reason for me to take my leave and find who is responsible for this."

I can see that you are convinced that you and only you are going to be able to save Christine, though I wish heartily that you would reconsider, my friend. Whatever your past was, you have become a more peaceful man, who has begun to allow life to heal you. I fear for your recovering soul should you happen upon those responsible. Your form of vengeance is legendary; I wish not to see you revert to that as a way to resolve the wrongs you witness. My friend, you are a very talented and valuable human being, if you would allow me, might I suggest that maybe you should take one of the brothers with you to help you refrain from excessive aggression when you accomplish your goal?"

"Brother James, I am truly touched by your deep concern for my well being; however, my soul belongs to Christine. I must right the wrongs on her, I don't know exactly what it will mean to accomplish this, but I will try, as I promised Nadir before, not to resort to murder to exact justice on those who meant to do harm to my Christine."

"Remember Erik, enough violence has erupted already, there can be no good served through answering violence with violence! Since you resist assistance from one of us, go with God, Erik, I mean that!"

"Thank you Brother James, if He is meant to be with me, then very well, he will be the only help I shall allow to accompany me on this tarry!"

**A/N- **My beta, Mouette, is so bogged down with school, we miss her stories, and I, unfortunately, for the time being am without a beta. Needless to say, the grammar and punctuation may not be as classy as it was, I shall try to re-edit numerous times so as to make my beta proud, but I look forward to her maybe being able to return to me eventually, when the pressure evens up. We all know how that goes, so please have patience with her where her wonderful stories; "**Angela Gloriosa"**, "**Beyond the Grave" **as well as **"A voice without a soul"**, updates are concerned as well as my probable inconsistencies. If you find them, please email me or review and let me know, I need the help. Thanks. I won't be offended, I am learning my craft through these fanfics after many years of writing for myself, and appreciate your help and feedback. Thank you so much. We miss you Mouette, and our prayers for you to find the balance, so you can return to us sometime soon. 

**Mominator: **I am so honored that you love this story. Really, I thank you so much for your reviews, they are so kind, and they help me to know what you like. Thank you very much once again. You inspire me to continue…So I shall, providing the grammar and sentence structure issue is not too rough on everyone. I really must decide to go back to school and learn that stuff the rest of the way. It has been a while since I went through Composition classes.

Please also remember the standard disclaimer; the story is based off a compilation of ALW phantom of the opera movie version, thus the description and character appearance I use in my story. (Thank you Emmy Rossum, Gerry Butler and Patrick Wilson and the rest of you.) The Leroux Phantom for some of his broody characteristics, but more just vague references, the Susan Kay version for some of the holes that need filling in at various points. The rest comes from my imagination, so I guess that is the gist of this disclaimer.


	10. Chapter 10 Of travels and troubles

Chapter 10

Of travels and troubles

_Erik--- _

I left Brother James to prepare for my departure. There were things I would have to go back to the Populaire and seek out. I needed to find something with which I could defend myself. I was not going after a potentially murderous lot without taking precautions. The catgut lasso came to mind, my old friend, quick and clean, it worked well and was easy to throw. I preferred this to the hempen noose I had made and kept with me. Why I had it here, I do not know, old habits die hard, I guess. I missed the catgut, it was a better weapon by far; maybe it had not been discovered by the mob when I fled the Populaire. "Keep your hand at the level of your eyes" was echoing through my head now. Well, having been the previous reason behind that warning, I certainly knew how to do that better than most. It also seemed prudent to retrieve any clothing or masks that might remain at the lair. However, I held little hope of finding any after all these months of my previous home being accessible to looters and vagrants.

I thought of that funny little monkey music box of which Christine and I were so fond. Such a strange thing to comfort us in our fear of the pain or loneliness we were dealt with at various times throughout the course of our tempestuous relationship. It had been some time since I had thought of it. Suddenly I was missing it and hoping that it was still there. I remembered placing the ring Christine had given me, the one she had received from that wretched boy, in the secret compartment beneath the monkey. I still marveled at the wisdom behind giving that ring to me. Had she not kissed me earlier, that would have been the most curious thing she had done that night. I had taken it as a slap in the face that she was leaving to marry that foolish vicomte and she felt the need to comfort me in my heartbreak with that bauble. I would have preferred a lock of her hair or perhaps one final un-witnessed kiss from her honey lips; those lips that haunted my waking dreams as well as in sleep. That, to me would have been worth the sacrifice and the subsequent death she believed had been my fate. Her taste lingered on my mouth even now, and had haunted my emotions every unguarded moment of my life since that night.

I could feel my anger at that foolish, wretched boy growing dangerously near madness once more. I could not help but place the entire disaster of a few days ago squarely upon his shoulders. I was almost frantic to prove that I was right and he was no good for Christine, to win her freely for myself. Surely the expression on my face was more that of a maniacal monster's than a man's by the time I finished brooding over these feelings. There would be no way to refrain from doing something imprudent if I did not stop thinking as such right now. There were promises I had made which, though months ago I would have broken without compunction, I now found quite difficult to dismiss abruptly without merit. I realized then that I was being selfish, my destruction of Christine would be complete if I began this campaign on her senses once again.

In my small room, I pulled out the clothing I had been wearing when I entered this haven of peace and sanctuary: a warm vest, I decided to leave behind, choosing rather, the warm cloak I had grabbed that night when I returned to seize my mask before leaving. I also decided to take the remnants of my Don Juan outfit. _Perhaps not the most auspicious of garments_ I thought ruefully, reminded yet again of my humiliation before all of Paris, _but they will do should I have need to change out of my robe._ I hoped that would not be necessary as it was the perfect disguise. No one would think to look for the Opera Ghost in simple monk's garb. The cloak however, would be welcomed against the chill of the late fall air.

Tossing the boots and trousers upon my bed, I wrapped the lawn shirt around Monsieur Daaé's book of Sweden, the picture safely ensconced within. I was certain that Christine would need to see it upon my return. To know that her father had left this picture behind, and that she was connected in some way with this place. I was sure there was a history and answers here for her. The explanation why I was bringing it with me now instead of leaving it behind for her to find was rather embarrassing, but stemmed from a gut feeling that I might need it somehow to solve this whole mess at some point. I would not analyze it nor would I be able to explain it; rather, I had learned to trust my instincts over the years and would not stop now.

When I returned, Christine would need to begin that journey of self-discovery that her father had laid out for her through the book clues. _Yes,_ I agreed with myself silently, I would need to show her the picture even if it meant that I was the one who had to walk away from her for good this time. I would have to be scrupulous about how I acted out this scenario if I wished even a chance of not losing her for a second time. It would shatter my heart the rest of the way and cause a greater madness in me than I had ever known before should I be denied yet again. I had felt like dying the last time. If it happened again I could not even contemplate what the pain might drive me to; perhaps suicide, or even worse, to kill again despite my vows not to.

Adding the shirt-covered book to the small pile, I retrieved the charred sketches of Christine and carefully rolled them up, then placed them gently in one of my boots. Partially burned or not, I was glad the likenesses were intact, as I now had them to sustain me during this venture.

Folding the warm woolen bedcover over my belongings, I rolled it up and secured it with a bit of rope then tucked the pack under my arm and left, only to find Brother James waiting for me. "Ah, Erik, it would seem that you have readied yourself for your journey," he commented casually and handed me a pouch of food - far more than one man would need for such a relatively short journey. I glanced at him warily as we made our way back to the great room and library. He paused just outside the door of the great room obviously trying to figure out how to garner my acceptance for a situation he knew I would find unpalatable, then shook his head and just sprang it on me.

"Brother Andrew needs to return to Paris for his nephew's confirmation. Since he is heading the same way you are, would you consider allowing him to join you on your trip into Paris? It would save us the trouble of having to secure an escort for him if you would; we never travel alone."

I looked at Brother James with a suspicious eye, wanting to believe the excuse was not contrived to keep an eye on me, but that he genuinely needed an escort for a brother and nothing more. I knew the type of leader he was; he would find a reason not to allow me to leave here unaccompanied, no matter what my disposition. I had half a mind to say 'no', but I felt obliged to Brother James for all he had done for me, as well as all he had not, over these many months. Realizing he already knew the answer, I had no choice but to say, "Of course it would be no bother."

Shaking his head with a smile that seemed to say, _I knew you would not dare deny this simple request_, Brother James excused himself for a moment to step over to the shelf and retrieve a text. Returning to me, he added, "I nearly forgot; I want to give you another item to read while on your travels. I have a feeling that there is a connection somewhere between what happened to Mademoiselle Daaé and the two books I have now given you."

Gazing at the text Brother James placed in my hands, I discovered it was about the Paris commune, written by a reporter who traveled with the revolutionaries during their short but bloody incursion. Brother James had more to say about the information contained in the writings he had just handed me. He cleared his throat. "You know, Erik, that book I gave you on Sweden was from Monsieur Daaé. He also left this other book, to be given to his daughter when she turned eighteen. He figured she would either be married, or soon to be married by then. He related to me that there are things ensconced within the pages for her eyes only. I believe perhaps that they are clues to something he alluded to having hidden for her to take possession of as an adult. I was under the impression that whatever it was, there were possibly people looking for this particular book for that reason."

Looking down at what he had placed in my hands, I found myself curious as to why Gustave Daaé would have left this book for Christine with such an enigmatic directive as to its disposition. This book did indeed seem as though it might have significance in some way, but how it tied into the situation at hand would need to be resolved promptly and I was certain it would not be obvious. I owed another debt of gratitude to Brother James now because of this. Examining the writing before me, I added, "It would seem logical, though not obvious, that there could be a connection somehow between the information herein contained and what happened to Christine; I shall have to look further into it and see what I can find."

"I do not doubt your affection for the young woman. She needs your protection. Though your past is questionable, you have proven your intentions toward her are honorable. Her father was a forgiving and good man, who had a troubled past as well. If he had gotten the chance to acquaint himself with you as I have, maybe learned something of your motivations, perhaps you would have been her father's choice for Christine's protector. You obviously adore her and are more than capable of protecting and caring for her. I wonder where the vicomte has been during this time as I have not heard of him turning up missing or dead. There does not seem to be any reason for his apparent lack of action in trying to find her. In light of this, I find you to be the staunch soul she can rely on in her tribulation. Therefore, I want _you_ to be the one to scour this book at length for the clues I suspect it contains, and solve the mystery surrounding Mademoiselle Daaé. Her life, as well as the lives of anyone else who might know she was to receive this book, may depend on what you find. Maybe she shall then find peace and where her true happiness lies. I suspect that she may have been motivated to go with the vicomte more for wealth and position than for love."

Brother James looked up at me as if he suddenly realized the time. "I am sorry, Erik, you must be in a hurry to get started. I will see what is keeping Brother Andrew."

I pondered Brother James' words as he left. Glancing through the information in my hands, it appeared to be yet another conundrum to work out in the increasingly large network of puzzles leading up to the day I found Christine waiting for Death's kiss. He soon returned and I closed the book, searching behind him for Brother Andrew.

"He shall be along promptly. I told him that he would have to ready himself quickly if he was to go with you. Being given the opportunity to travel with the genius he worked alongside to erect our beautiful chapel made him very happy. Brother Andrew is rather young, so he may be a bit more eager trying to find out things about you than you wish. Please gently put him in his place and do not lose patience with him. I would deeply appreciate it if you would remember that."

I was beginning to regret my momentary lapse into altruism already and we had not even begun the journey to Paris yet! "I shall do my best, though I make no promises where my patience is concerned. On your part, please remember that Christine is to know nothing of my existence. If necessary be evasive, though I know that you cannot outright lie to her. Keep exposure to her inquiries at a minimum and limit her caregivers to only those who are able to be ambiguous, please."

Brother James smiled and replied rather quietly, "Do not worry, Erik. Those chosen for such duty can always claim a vow of silence while she is in their care, that way we need neither lie to her nor answer her questions. If she mentions your name, we can shrug our shoulders as if we do not understand, or speak to her in another language so that she does not have the ability to converse with us. We shall find ways to avoid direct falsehoods. We have neither rules nor laws which _strictly _forbid us from ambiguity."

Suddenly, I smiled. This banter with Brother James was refreshing. He was the closest thing to a friend I had experienced since meeting Brigitte Giry so long ago. There was an invigorating difference between the two friendships, though. Although it was impossible to discuss my more primal urges with him, I still knew that Brother James understood that part of me, where Brigitte could not. I had never shared that common thread with another male before. While these men had vows to uphold they were, after all, still men and they understood what it was to feel as men do for women.

Christine landing on their doorstep probably brought that to the forefront for them, too. Curious; perchance they were more like me than they cared to admit. How would the monks deal with that instinctual, unthinking part of simply being men, and the feelings that Christine might invoke in them? Really, their contact with females was non-existent here, so Christine was something most of them had not been intimately involved with for as long as they had been at the monastery. Suddenly I began to wonder if she would be safe here. No, I could not justify distrust towards Brother James, he had never given me any reason to feel this way, he would watch over Christine well for me. It was just my possessiveness and jealousy for Christine that was causing this elemental doubt. _It is what drove Christine from me the first time; I must not make the same mistake again._ These thoughts were not worth pursuing further, they would taint the image of the monastic life these men had entered into. Any ordinary male, or the brothers even, would have just found a doctor and relieved themselves of the burden of caring for Christine by now. Not me. I could not let go of this sweet torture, for while she was here I knew she was not with the boy, and that was worth everything. It meant there still was a chance for _me_ then, no matter how slight or imagined in my own perverse mind. It made the quest I was about to embark on more worthwhile than I could ever have imagined returning to Paris would be. Yet I was torn between my need to ensure her safety here, and my duty to ensure she would be safe from now on. I could not justify protecting her here at the cost of losing the trail of those responsible for her accident in the first place. They were after her, no doubt, and they would try again if I did not find them and put an end to this. I had to figure out why they wanted to get to Christine; it was pointless to save her life this time if they remained out there waiting for her. I had no choice but to leave her here, and protect her future for whomever she chose to live it with.

I was anxious to commence my journey. There was much to do, and I was not sure where I wanted to start. I supposed my first stop should be the Populaire for my lasso and to see if I could unveil any clues to Christine's situation, then find my way from there as the answers indicated. I began to grow impatient waiting for that laggardly monk who was to be my watchdog. "Brother James, what is keeping Brother Andrew? It would be prudent to begin the trip to Paris as soon as possible. We must not remain here any longer than necessary, as I fear time is against us." It was time to depart but since there was still no sign of my travel companion it gave me the opportunity to perform one last task before our departure. "Since he has not yet joined us, I shall look in on Christine one last time while you remind him _again _that speed is of the essence."

Making my way through the yard to the chapel, I sensed Brother Michael watching me with that acerbic gaze of his. I decided to ask Brother James to keep him from Christine while I was gone. I did not want him near her. I did not trust that he would remain silent regarding my presence at the monastery should she inquire. I felt he could be a threat to my anonymity if he talked with her, so I would ensure that would not happen. All would be well if he was kept far away from Christine. Perhaps it was overprotectiveness or paranoia once again on my part, but I suddenly wondered if he had played a part in the misfortunes which had befallen my dear Christine. Perhaps I was giving him too much credit for the intelligence it seemed he was lacking to be challenging me at all.

My suspicions of him, undirected though they were, grew as I crossed the courtyard and felt his eyes following my every move. So this was what it was like to have someone's gaze boring holes into you. I had done it many times without giving thought to how it felt. Now I wondered if I would ever be able to do it again, knowing the sensation at last. It was far different from when people looked at me and cowered away in fear of my face; this feeling was nothing like that, and I found it unsettling. Realizing that these thoughts just created problems I did not need to deal with yet, I again pondered my mission. As my irrational behavior had proven in the past, I did not always see clearly, when it came to Christine. Perhaps a more impartial point of view would keep me from doing anything rash. I realized I needed to send a post to Mme Giry, telling her the recent rumors of my untimely demise were slightly premature, and convey my suspicions of the unfortunate events concerning Christine and her foolish boy. Her assistance and insight into Christine's past could prove invaluable.

Arriving at last at the door of the chapel, I silently opened it and strode inside to the narthex. It was small, granted, but it served the brothers well as there were not many of them. It was necessary to see the organ, to begin my good-byes there. With any luck, my own beloved instrument would not be too badly damaged for me to play when I arrived at the Populaire. As I reached her, I was again struck by the profound beauty with which this magnificent instrument was crafted. Closing my eyes, I lovingly ran my hand along the fine ivory keys, imagining instead that I was caressing the beautiful woman for whom I had named this magnificent instrument.

My farewells made to the grand lady, I turned toward Christine's chamber, and my stomach twisted. I think I was actually afraid that she would recognize me, or that I might give in to temptation and reveal myself to her if I approached her and she was awake. I needed her and feared that she might weaken my resolve should she call my name today.

I stepped silently into her room. She was sleeping, thank God! I do not know what I would have done had she been awake. There was only one thing I wished to do at that point, but I knew that, as close as she was to discovering that I was still lived, it would be far too unwise for me to indulge myself and partake of her sweet lips. I merely brushed her cheek softly with one hand, then kissed my fingers, and pressed them gently to her mouth before turning to leave. Eyes still closed, she moved slightly in peaceful slumber, a smile coming to her face as she murmured sleepily, "I love you, Erik."

I froze in mid-step. Surely she could not have just uttered the words I had so longed to hear her speak. No, it was impossible. My mind _must_ be playing tricks on me. She only loved me now that she thought I was dead. Shaken, I made to leave when I caught sight of a book on the table by her bed. I gazed at what my angel had found to occupy her mind, reading the title. It was on the purity of the soul and forgiveness according to the teachings of the Catholic Church. I found it odd that she felt need of that; she had been nothing but pure and pristine in my eyes. She embodied my ideal of a celestial angel of Heaven, as well as music personified. She understood me, knew of my sins, had seen my disfigurement, yet still managed to find good within me to love. Surely, this was a miracle. I marveled at the improbability of my worthiness of this phenomenon. She was the epitome of God's blessed ones and undoubtedly had a place in the heavens. Perhaps, with luck, one day I might accomplish something noble, something worthy of a place by her side in that blessed realm. I could hope for that, could I not? I resolved to take this book with me. After all, _I _was the one who needed this instruction, not my angel. That was, if this stuff was real. I was beginning to believe that perhaps there was something to it after all, and I wanted to explore this text for answers. I would have to tell Brother James before I left. He could find a good explanation as to why it had gone missing when she noticed its absence.

Looking at her beautiful face so serene in slumber, I had great difficulty leaving her side. Still, I knew I must go now or I would never be able to protect her from the horrors unknown. Turning to her door, I gently murmured, "God, protect my Christine and the good brothers who are caring for her safety." Lowering my gaze to my feet, unwilling to even glance at her yet again, knowing that in my weakness I would never leave if I did, I whispered; "Good-bye, my love. God willing, I shall soon be back by your side and together we shall be safe. Christine, I love you!"

I slowly pulled myself from her side and quietly closed the door on her sleeping form.

I had done it; I had actually left her room at last. Hearing her softly moan in her slumber, I resolved to finish the journey quickly so I could return to her side with answers and safety to give her. Then it struck me, what would I do if she was not here when I returned? Or worse yet, what if I failed? Suddenly, I realized it had been decades since I had experienced emotion quite like this. _Fear. _Not since I was a small boy had I felt such an overwhelming fear. It was a crippling sensation, and I could not allow it to draw me in. I had to identify what I was afraid of and free myself from that feeling. It would make the journey dangerous and futile if I did not.

Returning to the monastery as my thoughts collected themselves and weeded out the unwelcome emotions, I was surprised by a presence at the door. Trying not to sound alarmed by his sudden appearance, I remarked, "Good day, Brother Michael. What brings you across my path at this time of day?"

"I hear that you are going to try to find who did this to that … _girl. _Is that so?"

I nodded my head slowly, looking him straight in the eye as I did so. I wondered again if he might have information on why people wanted Christine dead. Maybe all he was hiding was his knowledge of my drawings and subsequently, my awareness of her existence prior to the accident. He needed to stay away from her. I now wished that I knew when exactly he had come to stay here at the Monastery. That might give me insight where to start looking at his connections. I needed to share my doubts of his integrity with Brother James before departing, to convince him to keep his fellow brother honest and away from my beloved Christine. God help Brother Michael should I find he had any knowledge of the events unfolding regarding Christine's life. I would settle this the only way I knew, then. To hell with promises! If she was in danger, I needed to ensure that Brother James knew this or Brother Michael would find himself hanging from the rafters. There would be no apologies, no warnings, he would be dead and that would be that! I glared at the man and brushed past him.

I hoped that if I could finish this, and return to Christine with news that I had dealt with those responsible, she would then feel free to admit her feelings for me, and maybe we could forge a future together this time. The uncertainty of not knowing if she would feel the same for me once she discovered I was alive was torment. I had to know. Upon the resolution of this heinous crime, I held hope that there would be a chance for us after all. Unless, of course, that foolish man/child the Vicomte de Chagny were to return to her and she decided she wanted him still.

Brother James was waiting for me with the errant Brother Andrew and soon the others gathered around to bid us farewell. I accepted their friendly handshakes and heartfelt prayers for a safe journey, though Brother Michael's reticence seemed apparent only to me. As the brothers dispersed to resume their duties, I pulled Brother James aside.

In a low voice, so as not to be overheard by my travel companion, I voiced my concerns. "Brother James, I am troubled regarding Brother Michael's intentions where our guest is concerned. I need to know when he arrived, where he was from, what he did prior to his arrival here? What do you really know of this man, Brother James?"

Surprised, Brother James replied after a moment's hesitation. "He arrived here two years ago from Paris, though from where in Paris and doing what, I know not. Why do you ask, Erik?"

"I cannot explain my anxiety; however I feel I must warn you that if any of my fears about him are realized, it will be impossible for me to honor my vow not to kill again. I will have no tolerance for any betrayal of Christine. If I discover he has been involved in such a thing, either by telling her of my existence here, or setting the stage for her harm, I shall not be able to contain myself. He will die swiftly by my hand. I apologize, but if you care for the well being of my soul as you claim to, please keep Brother Michael away from her."

It was evident Brother James was taken aback by my words, but to his credit, he recovered quickly. I knew he realized this was not something I would speak of without good reason, so he grappled with the explicit threat behind these words. He seemed relieved that I was talking instead of acting rashly, as I no doubt would have upon my arrival here if this had been placed at my feet at that time?. Maybe his prayers were helping my lost soul ever so slightly.

With an encouraging look, he replied, "Erik, though I have seen little in Brother Michael's behavior to suggest such malfeasance, I will make certain there is no contact between him and Christine. I shall err on the side of safety and keep him otherwise occupied. Rest assured my friend; Christine shall be safe in your absence. Now go."

Remembering the book I had taken from Christine's bedside table, I turned and said; "Christine will need other reading material when she wakes. I feel the volume she had selected is far more suited to a monster such as myself than the innocent angel she is. Perhaps you shall find an excuse for its absence?"

Brother James looked at me with consternation. Reading his expression, I could tell he was thinking; now he had to find her another book and offer a suitable explanation for the disappearance of the first, without lying to her. I imagined he was wondering what else might appeal to a young woman. Being unaccustomed to females, he might find her inherently difficult to please. Feeling sorry for the predicament I had left him with, I offered a suggestion. "Perhaps a volume of poetry would make a good substitute."

Brother James looked at me and relief was apparent in his expression. I shook my head that I would know more about a woman then someone who did not have the curse of my abhorrent looks. The world was certainly teaching me a lesson or two.

Leaving Brother James to his task, Brother Andrew and I grabbed our packs and headed off down the path to the stables to procure a pair of the horses the brothers kept for occasional business travel. The horses were old and would not be able to make it much further than Paris, but I would just leave mine at the livery stables with Brother Andrew when we arrived there, and continue to the Populaire on foot. It was the perfect time of day to leave; late afternoon. We would begin our travels in daylight but enter Paris in the early morning hours. We had to take it slow and rest the horses periodically, but the animals would cut an entire day off of our travels, so it was worth the little extra time to give the animals an occasional break.

I still marveled that it was so long a trip to Paris. It seemed that it was the very afternoon after the chandelier fell at the Populaire that I had arrived at the monastery. Now I wondered just how long I had been out there wandering, lost, angry and plotting unimaginable crimes, before I arrived at this place of possible redemption. I certainly had traveled great lengths in my misery the day I had fallen to pieces before my Christine. No wonder she was sure I had perished. No human could have borne that much pain and not been destroyed by it. Between that and the angry mob descending upon my lair, one of them should have been the end of me, but they had merely mortally wounded without the relief of death. Would I be lucky enough not to endure that pain again this time when I confronted Christine and my love for her?

Only time would tell.


	11. AN

A/N

Hello,

Due to personal issues, chapter 11 is slow going. It is better than 4000 words, and currently being beta'ed. Therefore, if you can be patient with me for a bit longer there should be a hopefully not disappointing update soon. Thanks to all of you who are patiently reading and not giving up on me. Please write reviews and encourage me. It does help; believe me, especially at this point of time in my life. I appreciate it and am very, very grateful to all of you who do so. Thanks and blessings, soon you shall have more to read….. Mary.


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